Unintended
by caisha702
Summary: If someone told me before the war I'd end up where I am now, I'd have said they were mad. I never expected to be more than just another District 8 factory worker. But then I became a rebel who became a president and everything changed **Paylor's story**
1. Chapter 1

_**So... I'm going to keep this short because if you don't 'know' me then you most likely just want to read the story, but if you know me already then you'll probably also know I said I didn't think I'd do this again after 'Freedom'... But here I am... One last time...**_

_**For the original suggestion of writing Paylor and the fact I carried on writing at all, you can blame be-nice-to-nerds. For the creation of this version of District 8 and all its characters, you can blame me.**_

_**I don't own anything that's recognisable as the original canon (and unusually for me, I won't be able to avoid the major canon characters later in this one :P) - I just like to play in Suzanne's fabulous universe ;)** _

Chapter One

The first thing I notice when I push past the crowd into the main square is Katniss Everdeen's face, magnified many times so those famous grey eyes are all I can see. This Katniss is on a banner that hangs from the front of the Justice Building, but when I look around I soon see there are many more Katnisses. They put the banners up every year to hide the decaying buildings of District Eight from the easily offended eyes of the Capitol as they eagerly follow the Victory Tour. It's obvious this is one of the few ways this year is no different from usual.

There are massive photographs of Peeta Mellark as well, the boy who won the Games with her, but it's Katniss I can't stop looking at. She's the one who pulled those nightlock berries from her pocket, she's the one who wore that mockingjay pin as her district token. She's the one we're all out here waiting to see.

There's a belief many people here in District Eight have that District Thirteen is nowhere near as gone as the Capitol would have us believe, and though it's based on sketchy rumours and hearsay at best, in recent times we've clung to it tightly and it's given us hope. It's given us the courage to start to believe there may be such a thing as life without the Capitol government and it's partly what's led me here today. The fact most of that belief comes from nothing more than a sighting of a mockingjay on the footage we're always being forced to watch is something I can't think about too closely. All I allow myself to think about is that it's always in the same place. I notice it every time I see the clip on the television. I don't think it's a coincidence, and I'm not the only one.

It's about ten in the morning so it's just about light now, or as light as it ever gets anyway. Between the chronically dismal weather and the ever-present fumes that are belched out of the factories, District Eight is hardly one big ray of sunshine. But that doesn't matter to me, because today is the day we test to see if there's even a remote chance that the insane plan we've already risked our lives for will work.

I edge past the massive Communication Centre, a remnant from before the Dark Days according to my Grandpa, pretending to be looking everywhere but at the Peacekeepers stationed at its entrance. It's hard to believe, but if Farlan's plan works then I could be one of the group whose job it is to take control of the place.

I try not to shudder at the thought. Answering back to the overseers at the factory is one thing, but even to think about storming the Communication Centre is something else entirely. That's all out rebellion, and every citizen in Panem's districts knows what happens to you if you try to fight the glorious and almighty Capitol. I can add that to the list of many things I don't want to think about today.

"Stop!" growls a voice from behind me. "Stop where you are."

I halt immediately, spinning around to see a tall, dark-haired man in the white uniform of a Peacekeeper. I don't instantly recognise him, and like everyone else here, I've long since memorised the names and faces of the Capitolian soldiers I need to fear for a reason over and above the obvious, but the sight of him still makes me look at my feet. Not now. Please not now. Not when I fear he'll look into my eyes and see the truth of what I'm planning.

"I don't want any trouble," I tell him, still looking at the ground. "I'm just here to see the Victors."

"You radiate trouble and you attract it, Flax Paylor. You can't help yourself."

"I'm just here to see the Victors," I repeat, trying desperately to look innocent and unassuming even though it's obvious my reputation has already preceded me.

He narrows his eyes sharply but says nothing more so I count myself lucky. He seems as convinced as he's ever going to be and doesn't stop me when I move quickly away.

Even in the short amount of time I've been here, the number of people in the square has grown and it's more of a struggle to weave through them than it was before. It looks like everyone's taking advantage of a rare morning off work to come and see Katniss and Peeta and I'm glad to see them. We were counting on having the crowd here and it's going according to plan so far.

"What time are they getting here?" asks a small voice from somewhere at my waist height, instantly interrupting my thoughts.

"When they're ready, Taff," I reply, stopping so I can look down at the girl beside me.

Taffeta is eleven years old, I know because she's counting down the days until she can take tesserae, but she looks little more than eight or nine. The minimum age for factory work here is twelve, but I know her because she's worked in my section after school since she was about seven, collecting scraps of fabric and cleaning the factory floor to earn a pittance from the overseers willing to overlook her age to get the necessary but unprofitable job done.

After all, why get an adult or youth who is capable of production work to do a job like that when there's a desperate little child or fifty out there willing to do it for virtually nothing? I don't know what it's like in the other districts because that's how the Capitol likes it, but in District Eight that's how it is. They keep us poor and hungry because it keeps us working.

"What are you doing here anyway?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her. "You shouldn't be wandering around on your own. Where's your dad?"

"I'm not a child," she replies sulkily, scuffing her already worn and filthy shoes on the muddy ground. "I can look out for myself."

"Taffeta," I intone warningly. "Don't start on me with your cheek."

"Then don't call me Taffeta," she says, scowling up at me through impossibly long dark eyelashes.

I shake my head but say nothing further. The other children have teased her about the fussiness of her name since she and her classmates have been old enough to talk, calling her 'District One' and asking her when she's going to volunteer for the Hunger Games. Though she's desperate to take tesserae to help feed her family, she's sensible enough to fear the arena so she doesn't find it funny. We're a superstitious lot here, and she's old enough to know people think it's ill luck to imagine someone going to the Capitol in case it comes true.

"Go that way," I tell her, squeezing her narrow, bony shoulder tightly in something that isn't quite forgiveness as I push her back towards the Communication Centre. They'll be here in a minute. It's time.

"Why?" she asks, trying and failing to turn back to face me as we weave through the mass of people.

"Do you want to see Katniss and Peeta or not?"

"Yes."

"Then move and stop whinging," I retort, pushing her again as I look up at the Capitolian camera crews congregating on the balconies of the buildings.

To my surprise she doesn't answer back, and before I know it I'm climbing the Communication Centre's stone steps again, pushing my way to the top so I can get a better view of the square. The entire stage is surrounded by Peacekeepers already, as I knew it would be. Seeing them there, it's hard to imagine our plan working. I turn away so I don't have to look.

"Over there," says Taff suddenly, tugging on the sleeve of the dress that was my grandmother's. "Look."

I sigh deeply at the sight of the slight figure pushing her way up the steps towards us, trying not to laugh at the way she glares at the people who get in her way.

"About time," I snap, pretending to be annoyed as she finally stops beside me. "You'll be late for your own funeral, Zib."

"Hopefully," she replies, tucking her arm through mine as she scans the square just like I did. Then she drops her voice to a barely audible whisper as she continues. "I had to see if I could get right up close to the stage. Stone was there. I thought he saw me so I had to disappear real quick. I wasn't much caring where I disappeared to."

I stare straight ahead, not wanting to let my reaction to her words show, but I grip her arm tighter so she knows I heard. Erebus Stone is our Head Peacekeeper, and he's definitely someone whose name is known for a reason other than his rank. Zibeline still has the scars on her back from where he had her whipped and she isn't the only one.

"And did you?" I ask, knowing she'll know I'm talking about getting to the stage because I can't remember a time when she wasn't my friend. We went to school together and have worked in the same section of our factory since we got too old for what little learning the Capitol decided we could have. I know how she thinks and she knows the same about me. "Can you?"

"Of course," she replies smugly, momentarily tilting her head so it rests on my shoulder.

"Where's Baize? Taffy's here but she should be with her dad. Where's Cali? And Darry and the others? Where's Cam?"

"Don't worry so much, _Commander _Paylor," she replies teasingly.

"Quit calling me that. I don't command anybody."

"If you say so," she says, her eyes telling me that she really thinks I should be able to take a joke. "But seriously, Cam's a big boy, he can look after himself."

"I didn't say he couldn't," I say, only changing my tone when I notice I sound as sulky as Taffy did earlier. She knows me far too well. She knows it's him I'm really thinking about despite how I haven't even admitted it to myself for many years. "We still need to know."

"And we will," she answers in that almost inaudible hiss, suddenly deadly serious as she nods once in the direction of the stage. "But first we need to see if the Mockingjay's got wings."

* * *

><p>They're holding hands as they walk onto the stage, and when they stop they're close enough to still be touching. I can see what they're doing, what I'm almost certain they've been told to do by people who must truly think we're stupid. Go on the Victory Tour and act like a foolish young couple in love, they must have said. Everything you did at the end of the Games was out of love and you have to show everyone that, you have to make them believe.<p>

Well we don't believe, or if we do then we don't care. The love story doesn't matter. What we care about is that Katniss Everdeen defied the Capitol, and yet here she is, alive and standing right in front of us. She defied the Capitol and she lived, and if she can do it then maybe we can too.

"What's she going to say?" asks Zib, still gripping my arm tightly.

"Nothing, probably," I reply vaguely, concentrating more on the way the Peacekeepers position themselves around the square than on her. "What do you think she's going to say?"

"Let's start a riot?" she answers flippantly, making me slap the back of her head sharply.

"This isn't a joke, Zib. Don't talk like that," I hiss, looking nervously around for white uniforms.

None appear, and in the end Peeta does most of the talking, reeling off what sounds like a very well prepared speech as he tries not to look at Dimity's weeping parents at the foot of the stage. Katniss hovers slightly behind him, but there's something about the way she scans the square, and it tells me she knows as well as I do. What she did changed Panem, no matter how hard the Capitol is trying to pretend it didn't. She committed the single most public display of rebellion since the Dark Days, and no amount of hiding behind a love story will change that.

"Katniss!" shouts a voice from behind me, and everyone instantly spins around in that direction.

I can see the Peacekeepers searching for the person who shouted as well, but before they can even work out who it was, another person repeats the cry of the girl's name. Then another joins in, and then another and another until the whole crowd is screaming just that one single word.

"Katniss! Katniss!" they chant, and it doesn't take long before I start as well. I've never felt anything like it. I've never felt that we're more powerful than those who run our lives, but I do right now. This feels like rebellion, more than standing up to the overseers ever did, and I don't want it to end.

Zib pulls away from me slightly and stands on the tips of her toes to see the reaction on the stage as she also screams at the top of her voice. I scan the crowd and see many people I recognise. Every one of them is shouting for the girl from District Twelve. Every one of them is shouting their defiance for all to hear.

* * *

><p>"Did you see them?" Zib says after the pair from Twelve have finally been ushered away, her eyes bright with excitement. "Did you see their faces?"<p>

I know she means the visiting Capitolians on the stage without her having to say so because I saw it too. They could sense the rebelliousness in our voices and for a second they weren't so sure of themselves, for a second they weren't in control. I could tell by their expressions that they didn't like it.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea to…do this now," I whisper eventually.

"What do you mean?" she hisses as we walk back towards the factory, trying not to draw the attention of the Peacekeepers who now surround us all.

"They sense it, Zib. Can't you tell? They're expecting us to try something."

She doesn't speak again until we're back on the factory floor in the middle of the crashing and scraping of the machinery, but when I lean down to pick up a new piece of fabric, she leans down with me at exactly the same time.

"The plan's in place, Flax," she whispers, her lips brushing my ear. "We can't turn back now."

* * *

><p>It was just after five in the afternoon nine days later that Taffy raced in, weaving through all of the people and machinery with her usual abandon. She whispered to me that she'd been learning all about District Three at school today, and that's how I came to be standing in the freezing cold outside the Communication Centre, waiting for eight o'clock. Because in the code Twill MacArthur has developed so she can use the children she teaches at the school to pass messages to those in the factories who are part of the planned rebellion, District Three is the name for the Communication Centre. I just feel sorry for those who heard the words District Two, because they'll be the ones with the hardest job of all. They'll be the ones trying to take the Peacekeeper Headquarters.<p>

I look across at Cam and he smiles slightly before turning back to the massive building behind us. Part of me can't believe we're here, that we're stupid enough to think we can take on the Capitol and win, but the rest of me is buzzing with excitement and anticipation. What if we do win? What if we fight them and they leave? We could have control of our own lives for the first time ever. We could have everything we've ever dreamed of. It's got to be worth trying.

I look up at the massive television screen on the front of the Justice Building, watching Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark standing before a wildly cheering Capitolian crowd, and then I turn my head to see the clock. Five to eight. Five minutes to go. My heart begins to beat faster as the people around me seem to close in, drawing closer together in an atmosphere so charged that I'd know something was about to happen even if I wasn't in on the plan.

"Make sure your mask's on tight," whispers Cam, leaning down so his face is level with mine. "Don't let anyone see your face once this starts."

"Make sure you take your own advice," I reply, rolling my eyes at him. He thinks he's the tough one, he always has, and he's been looking out for me for so long that it's become something of a habit. I'd never admit it, but I think I'd miss him if he didn't. "If you die then I'll have nobody to nag and shout at."

He laughs but then abruptly falls silent as the clock begins to chime. Everyone around me reaches for their hastily improvised masks and I find myself doing the same without having to think. My hand closes around the piece of black fabric I smuggled out of the factory, that I took home and carefully cut holes out of so I could see and breathe, and as I fit it tightly in place, the chaos begins.

When they realise what's happening, many of the people in the crowd who had gathered to watch the Victory Interview begin to try and flee to safety, but many, many more pick up anything they can find to use as a weapon or missile and charge forwards into the fray. A wordless battle cry starts up as they run at the ill-prepared and temporarily stunned Peacekeepers and soon the noise of people screaming, guns firing and bricks crashing into buildings is almost deafening.

I hear a loud bang as the gallows is torn down and set alight, but then Baize drags my attention back to the job in hand. I see Taffy standing in front of him, her eyes wide as she frantically tries to look in every direction at the same time, and she makes me remember what we're supposed to be doing.

"Baize, take some of your boys and go around the back!" I shout, nodding in the direction of the group of men he works with. "Cam and the rest, stay with me! Hopefully we'll meet in the middle!"

To my great surprise they obey me instantly, pulling previously hidden metal pipes from the side of the alleyway that leads to the back of the Communication Centre and racing off without another word. The Peacekeepers are getting more organised now, I can tell by the increased gun fire. If we're going to do this then it has to be now.

* * *

><p>We'd been a relatively small group before, but as I sprint down the path towards the building's front entrance I find myself in the middle of a raging mob, many of them with their scarves tied up over their mouths to hide their faces. I tighten my grip on the rock in my hand, thinking it very inadequate against the guns of the Peacekeepers, but I don't have time to dwell on it because before I know it we're there and the fight is happening all around me.<p>

I raise my arm, pulling it back and then slamming it forwards so the rock smashes into the skull of the Peacekeeper nearest to me. He crumples to the ground instantly, and when I look at the rock it shines wet with his blood. The man doesn't move, and for a second I stand there staring down at him because he's the first person I've killed and I did it without even thinking. But then I see another white uniform in the corner of my eye and I lash out again.

I don't have time to stop and think after that, not until we've scaled the Communication Centre steps, somehow managing to overwhelm the Capitol soldiers with sheer force of numbers.

"Is that it?" gasps Zib, gripping hold of my arm and looking up at me with eyes that seem to shine through the mud and blood on her face with a mixture of happiness and stunned disbelief. "Is it over?"

"I don't think so, Zib," I reply. "It wouldn't be that easy."

"But it is that easy, Flax. Look," she says, raising her other hand to show me the gun she carries. "We're as strong as they are now."

"Hey, Paylor! You broke your word! This isn't the middle!"

I spin around to see Baize and the others striding down the corridor towards me, looking bruised and battered but not significantly reduced in numbers. Many of them take turns to clap us on the back, and old Darry even ruffles first my hair and then Zib's, laughing when she protests. When I scan the entrance hall the only Peacekeepers I see are those who've been captured by us rebels and every visible weapon is in the hands of one of us.

"This is too easy," I mutter under my breath, barely aware I'm speaking aloud at all. "Why is it so easy?"

"What did you say?" asks Cam as he appears on my other side.

I gaze back at him for a minute but then I shake my head, listening to the fierce battle still going on outside in the square. It isn't over yet, and we won't last very long if we stand here speculating about our apparent success.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter. How many guns have we got?"

"Guns?" replies Zib.

"Yes, guns. You know, the metal things the Peacekeepers usually carry so they look all threatening."

"There's a reinforced door back there that looks like it might be a weapons store," says Cam, smirking at what I said. "And all the Peacekeepers were trying to get into it when we got here."

"Let's go," I say tersely, nodding my head and striding forwards. Once again they all trail after me without protest.

When I get there I find a huge steel door with a red sign attached to it. 'Authorised Personnel Only', it reads, and on closer inspection, the lock seems to require a code to open it. I'm about to look around at them all, to ask for suggestions because there's no way we can fire a gun at it and break it open, but then Cam pushes me out of the way.

"Go get that prisoner," he says to Baize. "I think it's about time we got one of them to do some good for this district."

"He won't tell you what the code is," says Cali, speaking for the first time since we stormed the building.

"He will if we…persuade him," he replies ominously, making sure the struggling Peacekeeper hears.

We all stand back slightly then, and I force myself to watch as Cam, Baize and some of the others start to persuade the captured man to cooperate by hitting him as hard as they can. He might be a Peacekeeper, but he doesn't look especially strong, either mentally or physically. Before they started on him, his features were the finely chiselled work of a Capitolian surgeon, and when they give him chance to speak, he gives in so easily that I suddenly want to ask him how someone so weak ended up in President Snow's army.

Cam punches the code he gets into the panel and the Peacekeeper gives a visible sigh of relief when the door swings open. Many people surge forwards, disappearing to see what's inside, but a lot of the others remain where they are.

"What shall I do with him?" asks Baize, and it takes a good few seconds for it to register in my mind that he's talking to me.

"Kill him," says Zib without hesitation, already starting to raise her gun.

I'm about to ask her if she even knows how to fire it, but at that moment Taffy pushes through the crowd and stops by my side, closing her filthy hand into a tight fist in the fabric of my jacket. I take one look at her and shake my head. She's too young to see something like that, although judging by the state of her, it may be too late for a sentiment like that.

"Not yet," I say, slamming the rock I still have in my hand against the side of the Capitolian's head. "Lock him up somewhere. He might be useful later. Do the same with any others, but keep them in separate rooms and search them first."

Zib stares at me, and I wait for her to question me, to ask who died and made me the boss, but she doesn't. Instead she nods twice, first to me and then to two of the station workers, who drag the unconscious Peacekeeper away down the corridor. She follows behind them, only turning back when I call after her.

"Zib?"

"What?"

"Don't kill anyone unless you have to."

"They'll kill us if they get the chance."

"We're not them."

"Whatever you say, Commander."

I scowl at her and then spin on my heel, heading straight through the doorway with Cam and Baize following behind. It's dark in here. There are no windows and only one small light bulb hanging from the ceiling, but it's just bright enough for me to see the rows of guns lining the walls.

"Told you so," says Cam teasingly as we watch some of the others unhook them from the shelves.

"We should take some of them away. Hide them down by the river or something."

"Why?"

"Because this seems too easy. Something's not right. We can always get them back when we need them."

"We need them now, Flax. The Capitol isn't going to surrender Eight without a fight. You're right when you say the battle's only just started."

"There are more guns than people right now," I reply, scanning the room carefully. "Keep what we need and take the rest of them away. Baize can take them."

"Why Baize?"

"Because he can take Taff with him," I answer, glaring across at the big, burly man who was stupid enough to bring his girl into the middle of a war zone as I raise my voice so he can hear me. "If it's going to kick off again then it'll be here because they'll want the Communication Centre back. This is no place for her."

"I kept her where I can see her," replies Baize. "I'll make no apology for it. If I can see her then I know nothing bad's happening to her."

"How can you protect her in the middle of a riot?"

"How could she have protected herself if the Peacekeepers charged the Community Centre? Because that's the only place I could've sent her. It was too late to send her back to Nessa."

"I think we should take some of the guns and hide them," I reply, nodding in reluctant acceptance. "Will you take them?"

"That's not part of the plan. Farlan said to take this place and stay put."

"Farlan doesn't know everything."

"Neither do you, Flax Paylor," says Darry, stepping forwards. "But I'll take your word for this. I'll take the guns if you ask me to."

"And I'll go with him," adds Baize, his eyes not leaving mine even as he holds his arm out until Taff runs to his side.

"I'll go too," she says. "I can help."

"And a big help you'll be, I'm sure," I tell her solemnly, forcing myself not to ask her how she came to be so muddy and how she got the cuts and bruises on her face and hands.

As I watch them prepare to leave, I quickly realise that most people here are happier when they're following instructions or orders. It's what they know and what they're used to, and before I know it they're tying piles of guns together and lifting them onto their shoulders.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"Better than you do, Paylor," hisses Baize under his breath, and the atmosphere in the room seems to lighten a little when we both laugh.

Once the small group have left, the rest of the rebels soon disperse, leaving me alone with Cam. It's only when I know there's nobody else around to overhear that I finally feel able to confess to the thought that's been lurking at the back of my mind since way before today.

"Cam?" I say, and he turns to me immediately. "Do you know how to fire a gun? Because I don't."

* * *

><p>Several hours later we're slumped against the wall in the entrance hall as the dawn light shines down through the glass domed ceiling. The noise from the square has stopped, and now it's almost unnaturally quiet. I wonder what woke me until it starts again, an almost rhythmic tapping echoing back towards me from one of the rooms down the corridor.<p>

I slowly move away from Cam, lifting the arm that was draped around me up and lowering it back against him. He turns slightly and sighs but doesn't wake, so I get up and creep towards the source of the noise that disturbed me. It's only when I see her sitting on the floor inside the otherwise empty room that I realise Zib wasn't still in the entrance hall.

"What are you doing? Can't sleep?"

She looks up at me with red, tired eyes, taking the bullet from the gun in her hand and then immediately replacing it. It clicks into place loudly when she jerks her wrist and I realise that's what I heard, over and over again.

"Not much," she replies, still staring up at me even as she dismantles the gun one more time.

I cross the room and flop down onto the floor beside her, reaching across to put my hand over hers. She drops both gun and bullets and they land on the ground with a loud clatter. I wait for Cam and the others to come racing in, convinced we're under attack already, but they don't arrive and the silence continues. Zib pulls her hand away only to turn around and push herself against me, wrapping her arms around my waist like she hasn't done for nearly twenty years.

"Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?" I ask, reaching up to stroke her hair only to find it still matted with blood from last night.

"Is it over?" she replies, answering my question with one of her own. "Have we won?"

"I don't know," I say, not seeing the point in lying to her. "It still seems too easy. If it was this easy then we'd have been free years ago."

"But I…I… Sometimes I think I'd rather die than go back to what we were before."

"I know," I whisper. "I know. But I'm kind of hoping it won't come to that."

She leans closer to me and pushes the gun away in one movement, and it's the sight of it skidding across the floor that makes me think. It makes me remember the thought that was nagging at me even as she taught us what I thought none of us knew.

"Zib? How did you learn to fire a gun?"

"You don't want to know," she replies, releasing me slightly but not moving away.

"If I didn't want to know then I wouldn't ask."

She sighs deeply and rests her head on my shoulder again. "If I tell you then don't judge me, Flaxie," she whispers. "You have to promise you won't judge me."

"Last time you said that we were fourteen years old and you stole that blanket from the factory because your mother was sick and you didn't want her to get cold at night."

"Do you remember when Adie got sick?"

"How could I forget?" I reply, knowing she's talking about what happened six years ago.

Zib's little half-sister got the same virus that killed my grandmother, only, as some of the lucky ones did, she survived even without the cure the Capitol gave to those who were most useful to them. I remember it even now. I remember how the Peacekeepers guarded the precious vials of medication, how they were immune to the pleas of people who got on their knees in the street and begged them to spare their child or elderly relative who wasn't deemed to be worth saving. I'd have begged them myself if Grandpa hadn't stopped me, if he hadn't taken my hand in his and told me in a hushed whisper that Grandma wouldn't want me to demean myself by pleading with the likes of them.

"And you remember how she got better?"

"Obviously," I reply, thinking of the now twelve-year-old girl who my friend treats more like a daughter than a sister.

"She wouldn't have, if I hadn't…if I hadn't made sure she did."

"What do you mean, Zib?"

"I love that girl so much. I couldn't watch her die. I couldn't."

"I don't get what you're telling me," I say, even as I feel my heart sink because I'm starting to think I do.

"Some of the Peacekeepers had a bit of a black market thing going with the medicine. Adie didn't survive without the cure. She survived because I got it for her."

"But..."

I'm not stupid and I knew about what was going on at the time. How could I not notice how few burials there were on the nice side of town by the station? It was perfectly obvious to anyone with eyes that they were getting the cure from somewhere. But Zib's poorer than poor. She and her small family of three barely have enough to survive and little Adelaide had no choice but to accept tessera grain on the day she turned twelve just like her big sister did before her.

"You're the smart one, Flax," she says. "Use your brain. What does a poor girl with nothing have left to sell?"

"Why?" I reply, almost too horrified to speak as I hold her at arm's length so I can see her properly. "You should have talked to me. We could have found another way. Somehow we could have done something."

"Done what? You still think we can take them on and win, Flax. Even after everything that's happened to us, you still have hope. But I know better. And I couldn't watch Adie die. I'd have done what I did a thousand times to save her, and I still would."

I don't know what to say so I hug her instead, crushing her so tightly against me that she laughs and tells me that suffocating her isn't the solution to all our problems.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you'd have charged in and got yourself killed. And because I dealt with it. Once I saw Adie open her eyes again, what happened didn't matter." Then she laughs again and when I look questioningly at her she carries on talking. "I asked him to show me how to use a gun and he did. I think he found it funny that I wanted to know, and he didn't think it would matter or make any difference because it wasn't like I'd ever get to use one for real."

"Shows what Peacekeepers know," I reply, standing up and pulling her to her feet with me. I know her and I know she won't want to sit around talking more than we already have.

"Next time I see him I'll be able to put a bullet through him," she says, her dark District Eight eyes seeming to flash with anger. "And I know exactly where I'll be aiming for."

* * *

><p>By the time Zib's dragged me back to the entrance hall, the others have started to wake up. I can see them looking around trying to decide what to do next, almost as if they're confused because they don't have a shift at the factory to attend.<p>

"Now what?" says Zib loudly, making them all stop to look at us.

"We can't stay here forever. We control this place, but we have no idea what's going on everywhere else."

"So we go back to the main square?" asks Cam, taking my hand as he gets up even though he hardly lets me bear any of his weight.

"We'll have to. Do you think Baize and the others ended up there?"

"Maybe," he replies, but his expression tells me he isn't optimistic.

"We'll go and see," I say firmly, refusing to let myself consider that my decision might have sent them to their deaths last night.

* * *

><p>The first thing I notice is that the city's a total mess. The bodies of the dead, both district and Capitol, still lie among the rubble and the smoking remains of last night's fires and there are people everywhere, milling around uncertainly. But then my focus moves to the opposite side of the main square, because over there the people abruptly aren't aimlessly wandering anymore. They're fleeing for their lives, and even as I watch, the noise of what sounds like drums begins to ring in my ears.<p>

When the gunshots start, I realise it's not drums I'm hearing but the impact of many sets of boots hitting the floor. The line of Peacekeepers erupts into the square seconds later in numbers greater than I've ever seen. I only associate the buzzing noise coming from above me with Capitolian hoverplanes when the bombs begin to fall.

"Go back!" I scream. "We have to go back!"

"Go back where?" shouts Cam in response as we flee back the way we came.

"To the Communication Centre!" I reply, bellowing at the top of my voice in the hope that some of the other people running with us will hear and decide to follow. "To the Justice Building! To anywhere that means anything to the Capitol!"

* * *

><p>It isn't far to the Communication Centre, but it feels like miles when all I can hear is a jumbled mass of almost deafeningly loud sound. It seems to be a mixture of gunshots, people screaming and an unfamiliar Capitolian voice, projected on a loudspeaker as it asks us to put down our weapons and surrender, and it fills my mind so I can think of nothing else.<p>

As I sprint away towards relative safety, I try to pick out the words the man on the loudspeaker is saying and force myself to think about what they mean. Surrender? I know that one, but as if we could surrender now. Sure, the voice sounds reasonable enough - put down your weapons and everything can go back to normal - but how can everything be normal now? How can normality return after this? And how can we trust a word the Capitol says? They've always made a habit of being something nasty pretending to be something nice and there's no reason for them to change now.

"You were right," says Cam, gasping for breath as we lean against the stone wall of the Communication Centre entranceway and watch people trying to bar the door. "They knew all along. They were waiting for us to do this."

"It doesn't matter now," I reply. "We have to think. There must be something we can do."

"Surrender?" says someone else, a woman I don't recognise. "We're through. It's over. But maybe they'll decide we're more use to them alive than dead."

I scan the vast room looking for inspiration, not willing to believe it's over yet.

"Did Farlan say anything else? What are we supposed to do now? They must have thought about this. They must have."

"I don't think there's anything we can do. It's finished."

Even as he's speaking, the bombs begin to fall again and there's a crashing sound as the Peacekeepers attempt to break the door down.

* * *

><p>"We have to move! We have to get out!"<p>

"No, Cam!" I scream, trying to make myself heard over the sirens and the loudspeakers and the endless crashing from the front of the building. "It's too late for that! We can't!"

He grabs my arm and drags me along the corridor back the way we came.

"Don't be stupid! They'll be around the back as well! It's suicide to go that way!"

"That's why we're not going that way," he gasps, sliding to a halt in front of a nondescript looking door about halfway down the equally featureless and grey corridor.

"But-"

He drags me into the room, slamming the door shut behind us, and I stare incredulously back at him when I realise where we are.

"Cam, this is the laundry room."

"I know," he says, frantically opening and closing hatches on the wall until he finds the one he's looking for. "My cousins work in here, remember. The Capitolians have to have their clothes washed somewhere."

"This is no time for games," I snap, stepping back towards the door because if I'm going to die then it's going to be with a weapon in my hand not hiding amongst the dirty linen like a frightened child. "The others are still out there and I'm going back."

I start to move again but he holds me still, spinning me around so I have to look at the dark hole in the wall he's just uncovered.

"We go down there and we get to the servants' entrance. Then there's only one hidden door and a short walk and we're back in the main square. It's our best chance."

"No way. Not without Zib and the others. I won't leave them to die."

"If the Peacekeepers kill us all then who will work in the factories for them?" he retorts, clearly hoping I won't notice how he's edging me towards the hatch even as he talks. "They won't kill indiscriminately, you know that."

"If you're so sure of that then why are you here? Why did you drag me with you?"

"You know the Capitol. If something happens then they have to blame someone. They have to be seen to punish someone. Who's the one always answering back to the Peacekeepers? Who's the one who speaks to the overseers when there's a problem in the factory? You, Flax," he whispers, "it's always you. And I… None of us want to see you hang."

I look up at him, the logical part of me knowing he speaks the truth, but I still can't bear to run. Running feels like admitting defeat, like surrendering to the Capitol all over again. For one short day we had a chance, for one short day we were free. I'm not quite ready to let go.

"Live to fight another day, Commander Paylor," he whispers, standing behind me so he can turn me towards the hatch. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

"But Zib-"

"-can take care of herself."

"It's funny," I reply, raising my foot to the ledge and pulling myself up, "but she said the same thing about you. And don't call me Commander."

With those final words that sounded a lot like a command, I close my eyes and let go, hating myself for taking the coward's way out as I fly down the laundry chute at ever increasing speed.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Thanks for reading. If you're all still out there and want another chapter then I'll post again after Christmas...<em>**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I land awkwardly at the bottom of the chute, banging the side of my head on the stone floor. Before I can drag myself off my knees, Cam crashes down behind me and I fall again. He catches me before my head hits the ground for a second time, pulling me to my feet and holding me steady until I regain my balance.

It's even noisier down here and I know instantly that he was right, that we're only a short distance away from the main square. We couldn't see much from inside the Communication Centre, but we could tell that's where the majority of the fighting was and it's still going on now. All I can hear is gunshots and people screaming. The sound fills my mind so I can think of nothing else, and Cam has to tap my arm sharply to jolt me back to reality.

"You're a mess," he says as he hands me a piece of cloth, pointing at the side of my head. I can only see through one eye because the blood flowing from my wound obscures my view from the other. "What's Hem going to say when you get home?"

"I've got to get home first," I reply grimly, taking the cloth and wiping my eye as I think of Grandpa alone and unsure of what's happening. "If we're going then let's go."

It's just a few short metres from the other side of the hidden door to the chaos and carnage of the main square, but I can honestly say I've never been so scared. From the second I step outside into the darkness, I'm waiting for a spotlight to fall on us, for the harsh call of a Peacekeeper to ring in my ears as I also hear the click of his gun. Every shadow looks like an enemy, and it's only when I finally see the square that I'm temporarily so shocked and horrified that I almost forget my own fear.

All I can think is that it looks like the Hunger Games arena in the seconds that follow the end of the bloodbath, only worse because there are more people. The bodies of the dead and dying are kicked and trampled by the living as they flee desperately and at random for their lives. The air's thick with smoke from the fires and the ground's wet with blood. Everywhere I look there are people and every one of them is screaming, crying or simply staring around in a shell-shocked silence.

I thought District Eight had a lot of Peacekeepers before, but I've never seen them in numbers like I'm seeing now. They're moving in and channelling people down the side streets, firing at random into the crowd to make them obey. We wondered what would happen if we tried to fight back, and now we have our answer. I should have known better than to think we could face the might of the Capitol and win.

Soon the crowd envelopes us and I have to give up searching for those who were inside the Communication Centre with me. I grip the fabric of Cam's coat sleeve and we run along with all of the others as bullets rain down upon us and we attempt to dodge both them and the stones and bricks thrown at the Peacekeepers by the few rebels who still have the will to fight back.

I only realise what the Capitolian forces are doing when the mob comes to a sudden halt, closing in on each other in the narrow street until we're packed so tightly that I can't move. They've blocked the entrances. It's a dead end. There's nowhere for us to go. I hear the unmistakeable sound of many guns being prepared to fire and I don't have to look up at the roofs of the buildings to know they're all pointed at us.

Then the screaming and blind panic begins all over again, and more than one person falls to the floor only to be quickly crushed by others as they can think of nothing but attempting to find an escape route that simply isn't there. I gasp as I'm suddenly dragged through the sea of people and thrown against the wall, but when Cam grabs a fistful of the front of my tunic and holds me there, for once I don't try to pull away.

"They won't kill us, Cam," I whisper, leaning towards him in the hope he'll hear me as the chaos continues to flow endlessly around us. "They need us. This is just for scare."

"Do I look scared?" he retorts, but I've known him for so long that I can hear the false bravado in his voice.

I start to reply but my words are drowned out by the loudspeakers as the unmistakeable voice of our Head Peacekeeper fills the air, so loud that it takes over my mind and I can focus on nothing else. He repeats the same instruction over and over again, telling us all that we have five minutes to get back to our homes, and that anyone found out of doors after that will be treated as a rebel and punished accordingly. Every citizen of District Eight knows that means death without him having to say so, and when the Peacekeepers move away from the entrances to the alleyway, the race to get away begins again.

"You won't get back in time," I shout even as I run. "Come with me!"

"I'll get there," Cam replies. "Five minutes doesn't really mean five minutes."

"Do they look like they're joking?" I scream, infuriated that he's still so stubborn even now. "It's not like you've got anyone to get back for!"

It only takes a couple of minutes to get to the tenement block that's been my home all my life, and to my relief, Cam follows me up the ten flights of stairs to my level without protest. I fling the door open, wait for him to get inside and then immediately slam it closed again, plunging us into total darkness. All I can hear is the rapid, gasping sound of our breathing and the distant sounds of conflict that have followed us all the way.

"Flax, is that you?"

My heart skips a beat at the sound of that voice, and then again when it's immediately followed by a wheezy, rasping cough. I keep waiting for it to get better, but it only ever seems to get worse.

"Yes, Grandpa, it's me."

"Come here. Tell me what's happening. I can hear gunshots."

I push myself upright again and stagger down the corridor towards the only bedroom in the apartment. It used to be mine, but when Grandpa got sick we swapped and now I have the sofa and he has the bed. I hoped the extra comfort would make him better. It didn't.

The only light in the room comes from the tiny lamp on the bedside table, and it illuminates his wrinkled, homely face like a small spotlight. He looks pale and the pain he feels every time he takes a breath shows in his tight, drawn expression. But then I can't see him at all.

The light from the lamp goes out and I'm in darkness once more. Even when I stumble around the bed and flick the switch back and forth, the lamp doesn't come back on.

"They've cut the electricity," says Grandpa softly, speaking in that voice he used to use when he was telling Cam, Zib and me tales of what the Capitol calls the Dark Days when we were only small children. "It's just like before. Tell me what's going on. What happened to your face?"

"My face?" I ask, playing dumb and then sensing the way he raises his eyebrows disapprovingly even though I can't see him.

"Your face," he repeats, trying to sound harsh but failing because he can't disguise the way his chest wheezes and rattles when he talks.

They call it the death rattle, because nobody lives long after it starts, but I don't want to think about that. I can't think about it now.

"This is what I look like, Grandpa. I've never been pretty."

"Flax," he says warningly.

I shake my head, forgetting that he can't see me, and then I sit down on the edge of the bed. When he takes my hand in his and asks me again what happened, I find I can't stop the whole story from pouring out. I tell him about the attempt at rebellion, about the plan to take control of the district and then send people out to encourage the other districts to do the same, about the army of Peacekeepers the Capitol sent to crush us down. I tell him everything that happened, including the way Cam and I fled the main square.

The only thing I don't admit to is how heavily I was involved, but I can tell without being able to see him that he knows anyway. There's something about the way he squeezes my hand, the way his wheezing almost appears to stop because he can't seem to breathe.

"Grandpa?"

"What's happening now?"

"We're on lockdown. They gave us five minutes to get inside and now nobody can leave. There are Peacekeepers everywhere. They're shooting first and I don't think they'll even bother to ask questions later."

"It won't last forever," comes Cam's voice from the doorway. "They'll run out of fine cloth in the Capitol soon enough and they'll have to let us out so we can go back to work."

* * *

><p>However the next six days pass by and they don't let us out. They switch the water back on for an hour each day, always at two in the morning, leaving us to fill every pot and pan we have and hope it's enough to last until the next time. What little food I had ran out two days ago, and I was all for trying to sneak out to scavenge some more. That was until an hour later when the television crackled to life to show the main square.<p>

Cam, Grandpa and I watched in silence as an entire squadron of Peacekeepers lined up in front of the Justice Building, surrounding a hastily restored gallows, and proceeded to execute those they referred to as the 'ring leaders in this despicable attempt to disrupt the order the good Capitol has provided for this district'. I don't know if it's better or worse that the battered and broken people who had the nooses tightened around their necks had little or nothing to do with the planned revolt. Better because I didn't have to watch my friends die, worse because they had nothing to do with this and probably were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Flax, it's Hem. Come quickly."

I look up to see Cam waiting anxiously in the doorway, wringing his hands together the way he does when he's nervous or upset.

"What-"

"He's asked to see you. It won't be long now."

I rise slowly to my feet and make my way towards him, walking into the table because I'm not thinking about or watching where I'm going. The Capitol did this. Grandpa was doing fine when I could bring him food and water, when I could take him downstairs for what he laughingly called fresh air even though I suspect the last time this place saw real fresh air was well before the Dark Days. Now a mere six days on lockdown has made him deteriorate more quickly than I thought imaginable. Now it's all he can do to open his eyes and keep breathing.

"I'll wait in here," says Cam as I walk past him, smiling sadly when I brush his hand away from my shoulder.

My own hand is trembling as I reach out to push the bedroom door open even though I already know what I'll see. Grandpa looks smaller and paler than ever, and the tiny room somehow seems to smell of illness and death. Many people say that isn't possible, that it's all in the mind of those watching someone they love die, but I know it's possible because I can smell it now, and it tears me apart more effectively than the Peacekeepers ever could.

"Sit with me for a while?" he asks, every word a struggle.

I cross the room to the bed and perch on the end, trying and failing to force myself to meet his eyes. I can't. I don't want him to see me cry, but I know if I look at him then I won't be able to hold back my tears.

"Don't cry, Flaxie," he says, making me smile sadly to hear my childhood nickname after so many years. "I'm not scared. I'm going to see your grandma."

A tear does escape to trail down my cheek when he says that. I think of Grandma, of her death almost exactly six years ago after she contracted the sickness that swept the district virtually overnight. She was too old to work so the Capitol didn't bother treating her. She died in this very bed and I sat holding her hand just like I'm holding Grandpa's now.

"Your mother-" he gasps, only managing to get those two words out before he's taken over by a coughing fit that shakes his whole body.

"Don't talk. It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," he whispers eventually. "She didn't want to leave you. She loved you. But she had to choose."

"I know that," I reply, tightening my grip on his hand. "She had to choose which one to take with her and Weft was certainly more suited to learning fine embroidery than me."

"The Capitol made her choose. She would have lost you both if she didn't."

"I know that, Grandpa. I see her at the reaping, remember?"

"But I know her, so I know she doesn't talk to you like she should. When the bosses saw the talent she had… They told her she had to move to the factory by the station, but that they'd only train and educate one of her daughters. They wanted Weft."

"And they didn't want me," I say, managing to recall a few vague memories of the little sister I've barely seen since I was six and she was four. What I remember most is the delicate precision she showed with every move she made and every new word that left her lips. I was a clumsy child who was always too quick to answer back. There was no comparison. "Why would they?"

"I'm glad she left you with me," he replies, his tone as close as he can get to defiant. "It was an honour to raise you as my own. I can die a proud man."

"You're not going to die."

"Don't lie to your old man, Flaxie. And don't lie to yourself either. I'm happy that I can go after seeing you become all I ever wanted you to be."

"But I haven't achieved anything. We're all either going to starve to death or be shot by the Peacekeepers. Or worse, we're going to have to go back to the factories and pretend this didn't happen."

"Panem's changing," he says. "That Everdeen girl showed them all in the Games. If she can do it then so can you. I believe in you."

"You shouldn't."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't do, my girl. I'm old enough to believe what I like. And I believe you've got more about you than Farlan MacArthur and that wife of his."

"How do you…?"

"I know lots of things. And I don't believe Thirteen's gone either. Remember that. Now let me talk to that useless boy you brought back here while I've still got the energy."

"Cam?"

"The very same."

"And what're you going to say to him?"

"I'm going to tell him to stop messing about and marry you."

"What?" I exclaim, so shocked that I forget to keep my voice down. "We're friends, Grandpa," I continue, abruptly feeling like a teenager rather than a grown woman. "Like I'm friends with Zib and Cali and Luce. It's not like _that_. He's waiting for one of the station girls to decide they're bored with the nice side of town. He's not interested in me. And I wouldn't care if he was."

"You shouldn't be on your own."

"I'm not on my own. And I'm not the marrying kind, you know that."

"I said that before I met your grandmother," he retorts stubbornly.

"You should rest," I say, trying to change the subject. "Get some sleep and you'll feel better."

"Stay with me?"

"I'd like to see you make me leave."

* * *

><p>It's a little after two in the morning on the seventh night of the lockdown that Grandpa dies. I know that because I hear the clanging in the pipes as they switch the water back on and I hear Cam moving around in the other room, gathering and filling all the pots and pans.<p>

After he's gone I don't know how long I sit there for, holding his steadily cooling hand in the near darkness because I can't bear to let go. I hear Cam's footsteps approaching but he stops outside the door and doesn't come in. I can't decide if I'm relieved or disappointed when he moves away again. I can't decide what to think at all any more, not now Grandpa's gone.

* * *

><p>I must have fallen asleep for a while because it's a bit lighter when I open my eyes. I look around the tiny room and nothing has changed. I wanted it all to be a bad dream, but I instinctively know it wasn't.<p>

I push myself to my feet and walk slowly over to the door, not looking back at Grandpa because I have to stay strong.

"Flax?" says Cam as soon as I step out of the bedroom, peering at me questioningly around the blanket he's wrapped himself in to keep warm.

"He's gone, Cam," I whisper, struggling to keep my voice even and flat. "I have to go out and arrange the funeral."

"You can't be serious," he replies instantly. "Nobody's going anywhere. We're still on lockdown."

"I can't leave him in that room. I have to go out."

"What're you going to do if you go out? You heard the Peacekeepers as well as I did. If they don't recognise you then you'll be arrested, charged with treason and executed. If they do recognise you then they'll just drag you to the main square and start the cameras rolling. I'm not going to let you go out."

"You're forbidding me to leave? Seriously?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm forbidding you to leave," he replies, standing up and letting the blanket fall to the floor. "I won't let you leave. I physically won't let you walk out of here to your death."

"But-"

He walks over and grasps my wrists, holding my hands out in front of me in restraint even though I'm not putting much effort into fighting back because I still can't think straight.

"There's nothing you can do. Even if you did go out, which isn't going to happen, there's nothing you can do."

I stare up at him and he says nothing more after that, realising his words have finally started to sink in. Lockdown means lockdown so I couldn't do anything even if I could get out. They wouldn't even allow me into the factory to get a spade to dig Grandpa's grave with my own hands. And I would if I could. He deserves that.

"Flax, come here and sit down," he says eventually, letting me go and sitting back down in front of the small fire that's the only source of heat we have. "It's freezing in here."

"I'm fine," I reply absently, staring into the flames.

"But I'm not," he says. "And you're making me nervous, standing there like that."

I shrug my shoulders and try to roll my eyes at him like I normally would, but I sense the effect isn't the same when I see the look on his face. When I sit down he leans to the side so his arm is pressed against mine, and I feel warmer instantly. But I don't want to be warm, because being warm will make me start to relax, and if I do that then I somehow know I'll have to confront the reality of what's just happened.

"What did he say to you?"

"He was talking about my mother and what happened, saying that it wasn't her fault. And he said he was proud of me."

"He was proud of you."

"I know that," I reply, biting my lip until it hurts as I try to stop myself from crying. "But I don't see why. Look at this mess, Cam. They're going to leave us all locked up until we get so desperate we try to charge down their guns. It shouldn't have happened like this."

"And how should it have happened then?" he snaps, and for a moment I think he's going to grab my wrists again like he did before. I almost wish he would, because the idea of simply letting myself drift away sounds so good that I need something to anchor me to reality. "If you know so much then tell me what you'd have done differently!"

He's shouting at me because I'm here, because being shut up inside like this is driving him mad, but it still hurts. Or maybe everything hurts and this is just one extra pain.

"There's plenty I'd have done differently," I snap back. "Not that it matters now!"

I push myself quickly to my feet, pulling away from him when he tries to stop me. I head towards the door but he jumps up, grabs my arm and yanks me back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to start on you."

"Then don't. It's not my fault we're stuck in here. Blame the Capitol. Blame Farlan. This was his stupid plan. I said it wouldn't work, that they knew too much, and would anyone listen? Of course not, because what do I know? Nothing. I'm good sometimes, but when you really mean business then you need someone like Farlan MacArthur. Because he knows things. He's heard rumours about District Thirteen, so he decided to tell everyone that our saviours will arrive. Well where are they, Cam? Where are they?"

"I-" he starts, but then he looks at me again and shakes his head. "I'm sorry about Hem. I know how much he meant to you."

That's it then. That's all it takes to finally make me crack, and before I know it I'm sitting on the floor in front of the fire with his arms wrapped around me, shaking violently with the force of my grief.

"We weren't prepared," I gasp eventually, talking about our failed attempt at revolution because I can't bear to talk about Grandpa. "We had no weapons, there was no real organisation. They were ready for us and we weren't ready for them."

"So tell me, Commander Paylor, what would you do?"

"Does it matter?" I ask, feeling like I don't even have the energy to tell him off for the nickname I've never managed to shake.

"Yes," he replies, speaking so quietly I barely hear his words. "I won't believe this is it. I _can't _believe this is it."

"Well we can't fight the Peacekeepers with bolts of cloth when they have automatic weapons. Any plan we have needs to involve taking the armoury first."

"So that's why you had Baize hide those guns?"

"Why else would I have done it?" I retort, shaking my head with mock incredulity. "Do you think they're to keep in my private collection?"

"Then what? If we took the armoury then what would we do next?"

"Cut off the train line into the city. They brought all those reinforcements straight in amongst us on a bullet-proof train. We had no chance. And we have to wait for the right time. We have to wait for something big to happen so they're not even thinking about us."

"You sound like a woman with a plan."

"Weaving's boring. What else do you expect me to think about at work?"

He laughs then, a short, humourless sound rather than the real laugh I'm used to. "It's as well they can't read your mind then, isn't it?"

"If they could read our minds then there wouldn't be a single one of us left because they'd have executed us all for treason. Then they'd have to make their own cloth."

"There's a thought," he replies, shaking his head slightly.

"He thought the rumours about Thirteen are true," I say, wondering why I'm speaking in such a rush even as the words leave my mouth. "He told me so, before… He just told me so. And I'm scared because I think he expected me to be like him. He wanted me to try again."

"You are like him."

I pull away from him a bit then, abruptly conscious of how close we are. He stares back at me, waiting for me to speak again. I don't know what to say when all I can do is remember the tales Grandpa used to tell Cam, Zib and me when we were children, how we used to sit on the floor around his battered old armchair that he claimed used to belong to his own grandfather, hanging on his every word.

He told us tales of the Dark Days, of the war between the Capitol and the districts, forbidden tales that we instinctively knew we weren't meant to hear from his tone of voice alone. He told us of life before the Capitol and the Hunger Games and the endless shifts in the factories. He told us of a time when people didn't starve to death, when they were paid fairly for the work they did and could move to live wherever they wanted. At the time I thought it was a fantasy, now I want to believe it wasn't. But I'm not sure I can.

"I'm not," I reply eventually. "I don't think I ever could be."

"What else did he say to you?" he asks, pulling me against him again.

"That Katniss Everdeen's changed the world," I reply, starting to push him away but then thinking better of it when I notice how much colder I am when I do. "He thinks…thought she'll be what finally starts something."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know. Let's just suppose District Thirteen wasn't destroyed in the war and that everything Farlan and Twill and the others were saying is true. That doesn't mean anything when they've been silent for nearly eighty years."

"But if we fight and win then will Thirteen join us? Farlan thinks they will."

"Well I can't see them flying to the rescue now. So what if the Capitol recycles the footage? That doesn't mean there's anyone living out there. Maybe the president just thinks it looks more dramatic when the buildings are still smoking. No, I reckon we're going to have to rescue ourselves. If we can do it and send a message out to the other districts then we might just stand a chance."

"But the Capitol's so strong, Flax."

"Yes, but the Capitol can't be everywhere at once with its full strength. There isn't an infinite number of Peacekeepers, Cam. You heard what some of the others were saying about the armoury, about the rooms full of excess weapons and uniforms. If we all fight then it might work."

I turn around so I can look at him, and I find him staring back at me. I'd only meant what I said to be in theory, I was speculating on what _could _happen rather than what I'd be brave enough to try, but I can tell by the look on his face that he took me seriously. He doesn't seem to know what to say.

"Don't you agree with me?" I ask, more to get him to say something than because I'm looking forward to hearing his answer.

"When I hear you talk like that I do, but if we don't starve to death in here first then that buzzer will sound and we'll have to go back to work. Nothing will change. We tried and we failed."

"But don't you see?" I reply, my heart sinking as the most major thing in all this abruptly dawns on me. "We tried. And because we tried, it won't be like before. It'll be worse. There's no way back now."

* * *

><p>We see the truth of my words as soon as we step outside the following morning. They rang the buzzer at dawn and broadcast an announcement telling us we were all to go back to school and work as normal, but the streets of the city are anything but normal now.<p>

Most of the roads were little more than dirt tracks already, nothing like those we see on the television every week when they show the Capitol or every year when they show District One on reaping day, but the fighting and the bombing has left a lot of them blocked with rubble and collapsed buildings. I stare straight ahead of myself as I walk along, trying to avoid looking at both the dead bodies that still lie on the ground and the Peacekeepers who line our path to the factories.

Zib appears at my side just after we pass her block, and she wraps her arm protectively around Adie once she's quickly pushed the girl around so she walks between us. Both of them look thinner than they did before, my friend even more than her sister. She's been giving up her ration again, just like she always does when times are hard.

"You're no good to her if you starve to death, Zib," I say, still staring straight ahead as we keep walking.

We both skid to a halt before she can reply when Cam suddenly steps in front of us. One of the Peacekeepers moves forward and drags a man who was before us in the line away. He's loudly proclaiming his innocence already but I doubt it will do him much good. They bundle him into one of their vans and it immediately speeds off. Nobody speaks after that. All I can hear is the sound of our footsteps. I can almost smell the fear.

"Tell them about Hem," says Cam quietly as we approach the factory. "I'll see you after work."

"What about Hem?" asks Zib as soon as he's disappeared.

"He's dead, Zib. He died last night."

"I'm sorry, Flax. But he was ill already. It wasn't your fault so stop blaming yourself," she says perceptively. "There was nothing you could have done and he wouldn't want you feeling sorry for yourself."

"Silence," barks the overseer guarding the factory door. "Get inside and get back to work. You're all seven days behind now and you'll work until you've made up the deficit. No breaks."

Zib rolls her eyes a little too obviously and gets a blow to the side of her head for it. When Adie screams, the man immediately starts towards her, and I instinctively push her out of the way before she can get the same treatment. The next thing I know she's staring down at me with wide eyes as I attempt to summon the strength to pick myself up off the floor after I receive her punishment for her. The tiny hand she offers me doesn't look strong enough to lift a feather, but I take it anyway. The corners of her mouth lift slightly in the smallest of half-smiles.

I look around and see everyone staring at me. The silence is so charged I'm sure we could light up the whole district if they could channel the power. Then I see the truth of Grandpa's words. They're all waiting to see what I will do next. And that means I have to do what I must. Nothing. Now is not the time so I walk meekly back into line, dragging Adie with me. It feels like several seconds before anyone close to us begins to breathe again.

* * *

><p>Once the young ones have been grouped together and taken off to school, it doesn't take long for us to reach the factory floor. Instead of allowing us to start work straight away, the overseers keep us waiting together just in front of the podium where they usually stand. It's is almost full. There are more of them than there ever have been before, and there are more than a couple of white uniforms as well. I've never seen so many Peacekeepers inside the factory before.<p>

We stand there for at least an hour, but eventually Head Peacekeeper Stone strides through the door towards us, the sound of his boots hitting the floor echoing loudly around the massive room. Then for the next ten minutes we listen to a new set of rules, to an especially graphic description of the punishment awaiting anyone who breaks them, and to an announcement that anyone with a death to register must go to whichever supervisor is responsible for them rather than making the journey to the Justice Building like they would have done before. There will be no time off work to arrange funerals. Too many people have died and production's been delayed enough as it is.

I look across at Zib and she shakes her head sadly. Then the bell rings and everyone instinctively disperses. When I tell the overseer about Grandpa, he tells me I'll be told the number of his grave when I've finished work and I'll be allowed to be out half an hour after the new curfew so I can visit it. Then he sends me back to work. The sound of the machines starts soon after and I move to my position, reaching for the first piece of cloth that needs stitching.

I can't bear this. For one day little over a week ago, I was free. I can't go back to this and remain sane. We have to try again. I have to think of a way for us to fight back and win. Because I can't live like this for the rest of my life. I'm starting to think that I'd rather die.

* * *

><p>By the time we should be stopping for lunch but don't, I've mentally taken control of the armoury, the train station and the Justice Building. I've also executed President Snow at least ten times and strung Erebus Stone up on the gallows beside him. But wishing doesn't make dreams come true, and the monotonous noise of the machinery continues to pound inside my head. I try not to think about Grandpa.<p>

I know when it's three o'clock because an unusually quiet Taffy appears and immediately starts work. I wait for Adie to join her like usual, but she doesn't. I look across the table to see Zib biting her lip anxiously and her dark eyes flick to mine instantly. When I let a piece of cloth on the floor, I wait for Baize's daughter to come over to pick it up instead of reaching for it myself.

"Where's Adie?" I hiss, leaning down with her.

"Uniform factory. They took her and a couple of others after school."

I sit back up and shrug my shoulders at Zib after checking nobody's watching. She looks around, searching for an excuse to leave her bench and come over to me, but she doesn't get chance.

Total chaos breaks out in response to the deafening boom that shakes the whole building. There are people running in every direction, just like a scaled down version of what happened in the main square when the reinforcements arrived, and it takes one of the Peacekeepers shooting her gun into the air above our heads to make everyone stop.

"Everybody stop!" shouts the woman, waiting until we're all silent and listening before she carries on. "Now walk to the courtyard and wait there while we find out what's happened."

"Don't you just love it when they pretend to care?" whispers Zib sarcastically as soon as we begin to move.

"Quiet," hisses Cali as she appears on my other side, and my other friend does as she's told for once.

As we shuffle along I strain my ears to hear something, anything, that will tell me what caused that explosion. We're leaving the factory floor for a reason. Zib thinks it's just the Capitolians pretending to care about our welfare, as they occasionally remember to do, but I'm not so sure. We're going outside for something different. I know that even if I don't know exactly what.

"What did you say? Where is she?"

I look to my left and see Zib crouched down so she can whisper to Taffy, pretending to adjust the collar on the girl's jacket so she doesn't attract suspicion.

"Packing Peacekeeper uniforms, I think," is the reply Zib gets, and she gets it just as we step out into the courtyard and get our first glimpse of the column of smoke billowing up from one of the other factories.

She works it out before I do, and Cali tries to grab her a split second ahead of me. She struggles fiercely against us both, and even tries to fight Cam and Darry when they take over a short time later. When I see the flash of white in the corner of my eye, my instinct is to cover her mouth with my hand, to stop her cries of her sister's name from turning into something they'll force her to regret when this is over.

"My sister's in there, you-"

Just before she finishes a sentence that will most likely earn her nothing but the gallows, I reach across and pinch the bare skin of her arm with as much strength as I have left, twisting so hard that I know she'll have a bruise there later. She yelps and stops struggling for the first time since we got out here.

"What happened?" I ask the Peacekeeper, a young dark-haired woman I don't recognise.

"An accident with one of the machines," she replies. "There was a leak and the fuel caught alight."

I nod and help Cam to drag Zib away towards the middle of the crowd where we're less conspicuous, but then it hits me. The factory where they make the Peacekeeper uniforms. The factory where Farlan, Twill and virtually everyone involved in the planning of last week's rebellion works. Accident? If that was an accident then I'm the President of Panem. They found out. I don't know how, but they must have. I don't want to think about the alternative. Because that would mean that someone betrayed us. And now they're all dead. Now what do we do?

When I look around at the others gathered around me, I can tell from the expressions on their faces that I'm not the only one who's guessed the truth. Many of them have tears in their eyes, shoulders hunched over in despair. I was beginning to hope we might be able to try again, but now this has happened I'm not so sure. It looks like it's really over. And maybe we'll never get another chance.

Cam releases Zib when she finally runs out of strength and stops struggling. I think she's going to collapse to the ground so I take a step towards her, but then she sees me and throws herself into my arms instead.

"She's dead," she sobs, repeating the words over and over again. "Why her? She shouldn't have even been in there. And now she's dead."

"They're all dead, Zib," I whisper, holding her tight so she can't pull away and see the tears trailing down my own cheeks. "All gone."

"Flax, look," says Cam, touching my shoulder to make me raise my head.

I follow the direction of his gaze to see two tiny figures being carried out into the courtyard by a group of Peacekeepers. One isn't moving, but the other is struggling frantically, covering the white uniform of the man who carries her with the black soot from the explosion that coats her entirely. As soon as he stops, she wrenches herself free of his grip and stumbles away. Only then do I recognise her.

"Zib," I say, rubbing my friend's back to try and get her to look up. She's crying too much so she doesn't. She hates people seeing her weakness. "Zib, look."

"Zibby, why are you crying? You always tell me off for crying and now you're doing it. It's not fair."

I turn around just in time to see Adie push her way through the last of the crowd of people that surrounds us. She's virtually unrecognisable. Both her clothes and her skin are black and filthy, and her hands and cheeks are scratched and bleeding. But she's alive, and that's all her sister cares about.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again," says Zib, reaching out and lifting the girl off her feet despite how Adie recently had a growth spurt and now isn't that much shorter than her half-sister.

"I didn't do anything," she stammers eventually. "I was working and then there was this flash of light before everything went black."

Zib tries so hard to reply that her effort is actually visible, but she can't seem to find words and quickly starts crying again. Adie just looks confused and more than a little bit dazed. She wraps her arms tightly around her sister's shoulders but doesn't stop staring up at the black smoke that rises from the factory.

"It's not over 'til it's over, Flax," says Cam quietly. "She proves that. Don't give up on me."

"I'm not. It's just… I'm not. But…"

"Then don't," he interrupts before I can say anything else.

I can only manage a tired nod as I join the rest of them and watch the fire that the Peacekeepers are finally starting to get under control. A few people push past us to get closer, and when they knock Cali into me she doesn't immediately move away.

"It won't be like this forever," she says.

I'm surprised to find that I still believe her.

* * *

><p><strong><em>If you've got this far then please say hi! Your reviews make me so happy ;) Also, I don't know if any of you are reading this but I'd like to say thank you to anyone who's reviewed one of my other stories anonymously. I'd love to be able to reply to you, especially whoever reviewed 'A Fox's View' yesterday (Thank you for what you said, by the way ;))... So, yes... Speak to me if you can. I'll post again this time next week.<em>**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

We live under virtual lockdown for three months before anything changes. They let us out only to go to work or school, and we're given less than an hour to get what we need from anywhere else before the nightly curfew starts. The Peacekeepers patrol the streets in numbers only slightly reduced from what they were straight after the failure of our uprising, and more than twenty people have been hanged in the main square since the new rules began. I only have to look at Head Peacekeeper Stone's face to get the impression he's enjoying himself immensely.

But then we get the announcement. Tonight there's going to be a broadcast. And everyone has to watch.

"What's this all about?" asks Cam as we hover in the main square in front of the massive television screen, waiting for the programme to start. "It's too early for the Games. There's another three months before the reaping."

I shrug my shoulders and shuffle a bit further onto the step I've been sitting on since we got here. There are that many people crowded around me that I can barely move, and every so often I catch them staring when they think I'm not looking. What are they waiting for?

I know from what the others have told me on the rare occasions we get the chance to exchange more than a few words that they all remember what happened at the Communication Centre last time and now they have this ridiculous notion that I'm going to be the next Farlan MacArthur. But what can I possibly do when the Capitol's keeping us locked up like prisoners? Do they want me to storm the Justice Building on my own wearing a cotton tunic instead of body armour? They look at me like they think I might try, and I don't know whether to be flattered or horrified.

"It's the Quell," whispers Cali in a voice so quiet I barely hear her. "You're all too young to remember it properly, but they did this last time. Three months before the reaping, they told us they'd be taking four instead of two."

I turn to look at her and a lot of the others do too. Zib pulls Adie closer, holding her so tight that she protests she can't breathe. It'll be the girl's first time in the reaping, and she already has tesserae. It's obvious that's what my friend is thinking about, and she only lets her sister go when the television switches itself on to show Caesar Flickerman, standing on a stage in the City Circle amidst the screams and cheers of more garishly dressed Capitolians than I could begin to count.

"They've dragged us all out here to see a fancy wedding dress?"

"There's got to be more to it than that, Cam," I reply, staring unblinkingly up at the pictures of the Mockingjay in a series of white dresses. "You heard Cali. This is for the Capitol. The Quell's for us."

"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" calls Flickerman finally, speaking just as I thought it would all never end.

In the Capitol the cheering begins again, but here everyone is so silent you could hear a pin drop. The camera in the big city zooms in on Katniss' face so her image takes up the whole screen, and she seems to gaze down upon us all. The girl who defied the establishment, who gave us all hope that fighting back was possible, and now look at us. Defeated and oppressed even more than we were before.

"They're all waiting for you to say 'Mockingjay', Flaxie," whispers Cam, deliberately putting on my Grandpa's voice and using his old nickname for me.

"No," I reply firmly, too frightened to even look at him in case someone's watching and senses we're talking about something we shouldn't.

Yes, it's true that I've been trying to do as Grandpa wanted and plan and coordinate a way to try again, an improved version of Farlan's failed attempt, and that the whispered exchanges which stopped so suddenly three months ago have recently started again, but now isn't the time. When the time is right they'll all hear the codeword that sets the plan in motion, but it won't be now. It won't be now because nothing's changed. It won't be now, because if we did it now then we'd never win.

* * *

><p>When they play the anthem and President Snow walks slowly up onto the stage, I feel my hands clench into tight fists. He is the one who's responsible for all of this. Everything leads back to him. I'd kill him with my bare hands if I had half a chance. And I don't care if it makes me a bad person, if I had the chance to kill Coriolanus Snow then I'd enjoy it.<p>

"Smile for the audience," hisses Cam, looking pointedly around at all the Peacekeepers who surround the square and are watching our every move.

He takes my hand and prises my fingers back, pushing my hand flat against my thigh and covering it with his own to keep it there.

"Sorry," I reply, shrugging my shoulders and turning back to the screen just as the anthem ends.

The president begins his speech by telling us all about the two previous Quarter Quells, and I don't miss how Cali shivers when she talks about the second one. Or maybe it's just talk of the Hunger Games. It always seems to have more of an impact on her than it does the rest of us, but as she's the only person I'm close to who's ever lost a member of their immediate family in the arena, I shouldn't really be surprised. Instead of pushing her, I say nothing, watching in silence as a dark-skinned Capitolian boy in a white suit carefully carries a wooden box onto the stage and presents it to Snow.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that not even the strongest among them can overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

All I hear is the start of the announcement. When he says rebels it feels like he's looking straight at me. His hard, terrifying eyes seem to bore into me until I feel like he can see right inside my mind and knows exactly what I've been planning. I only realise I'm shaking when Cam's hand presses down on mine.

"We haven't got that many for them to choose from," he says.

"What?"

"Victors," he replies. "Weren't you listening?"

Not to that part, I think, but instead of answering him I try to process what the president said. '…Existing pool of victors.'. That means the tributes for this Quell will be people who've already been in the arena once. I turn to my side to look at Zib, my first thought being that at least there's no chance of Adie going to the Capitol. Her eyes meet mine and I can't remember the last time I saw her look so happy.

However just because the children are safe, that doesn't mean the chance of someone from here winning the Games is any higher. A tribute from District Eight has only survived the arena five times in seventy-four years, and even to my biased eyes, I wouldn't bet on any of them coming home for a second time.

In three months time when our Capitol escort arrives for the reaping, she'll have to pull a name from each of the clear glass balls, and I can picture the look she'll have on her face as she does in my mind already. What makes it worse is that when I try to look at it from her point of view, I can't say I blame her for her disappointment.

For District Eight's male tribute, she'll have the choice between eighty-one year old Woof, Serge, who has barely left his house in the Victor's Village for over twenty-five years, or poor, pathetic Dowlas. He only won the year before last, but it was more by accident than for any other reason. He hasn't spoken a word since and cries like a baby if he has to leave his mother's side.

Then it comes to the female tribute. Cecelia or Aida. I don't see much of either of them because they keep themselves to themselves, but I know enough to know that Aida looks like she'd blow over at the faintest hint of a breeze and that there will be another three motherless children in Panem if Ceci goes back into the arena. She might be the one who looks most like a proper Victor, but her fight left her when she had the children. She'd be as doomed as the rest of them now.

"What was the point of the past half an hour then?" says Cali, speaking quickly because the Peacekeepers are already moving forwards to disperse the crowd. "It's not like she's going to get to wear that pretty dress."

It takes as long as it takes for the Peacekeepers to roughly usher us back towards our homes, sending Cali in the opposite direction to me, for me to understand the meaning of what she said. Katniss Everdeen is the only female Victor District Twelve has ever had. She's going back into the arena. Snow wants rid of her and he's found the perfect chance. Or has he?

There have been rumours about District Thirteen for a long time, and the force used to crush our comparatively feeble attempt at an uprising makes me think there's more happening than we know. Then there was Katniss and those berries in the arena, the double victory that the government didn't want. Grandpa said Panem is changing, that the girl we call the Mockingjay has made it change even quicker. What if he was right? Maybe in three months time we'll see the truth. Maybe we'll see if the hope we have is more than a rumour based on a fantasy. Maybe the Mockingjay really will fly.

* * *

><p>"Where do you think you're going, Paylor? Get back to work."<p>

The overseer's words bring me to a halt immediately. I don't know why I was stupid enough to think I could leave without her noticing. The morning after the Quell announcement and they're more paranoid than ever, seeing potential rebellion in every glance or movement.

"I need the bathroom," I lie, carefully not meeting her eyes. "I have to go."

"Hurry up."

I nod and quickly leave the factory floor, closing the door carefully behind me even though nobody inside the main room will hear over the machinery anyway and nobody outside will fail to hear for the same reason when the noise abruptly increases and decreases. I search everywhere, starting with the bathroom I was supposed to be going to and ending up in the dining hall, but there's no sign of Zib. It's only when I finally accept that my time has run out and that I'm going to have to go back that I hear her.

I push open the door and the first person I see isn't my friend but the man who has her pinned against the far wall. Being Zib, she takes advantage of the distraction I provide and kicks him, right on his kneecap so he doubles over and clutches his leg in pain. But when she backs away towards me, I see her cut lip and black eye, and nobody could miss the gaping tear in her tunic.

"Flax, get out," she cries. "You have to leave. Go!"

I ignore her and take a step towards the man, recognising him as one of the overseers from the packing area where Cam works.

"Do as your little friend says, Paylor," he replies, leering at me almost as much as he did at Zib as he makes me wonder exactly when every overseer and Peacekeeper in this district learnt my name. "Run along back to work and I'll pretend you were never here."

"But I am here," I snarl, wishing I had that gun I held so briefly three months ago back in my hand. "And if I'm going back to work then so is Zibeline. You have no right-"

"No right?" he replies, laughing at us both as Zib tries to pull me away. "Has the crackdown on you district people not been enough for you to get the message? You have no rights."

I begin to raise my hand, not caring that the look in his eyes tells me he'll hit me back, but before I can finish what I started, the door slams open. I know before I even turn around that I won't like what I see when I do.

"Move one more inch and you'll be hanging from the gallows before sunset, Paylor," says Head Peacekeeper Stone, his voice deceptively calm. "What in Panem is going on in here?"

"They attacked me," says the overseer immediately. "Rebellion, that's what this is," he adds, guessing that mentioning the word everyone in District Eight fears to hear will seal my fate.

"Look at her," I retort, grasping Zib by her upper arms and turning her so she faces Stone. "Look at her and tell me who you think the victim is here."

He stares long and hard at all of us, and I can see in his eyes that he knows the truth. But since when has the truth mattered here? I know what he's going to say before he speaks. The only thing I don't know is whether or not I'll actually hang for this.

"You," he growls, looking straight at the overseer, "get back to work. When you're at work, you work. What you do when you're not at work is of no concern to me as long as I don't see you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," comes the instant smug reply of a person who knows his thoughts that he can basically do whatever he likes have just been confirmed.

"And you," continues Stone as soon as the other man has left the room, this time looking at Zib. "Go back to work. Tell the others that when their shift ends tonight they'll see what happens to those of you who think you can defy the law."

"You can't! It wasn't her fault! Please!"

"It's always her fault. Isn't it, Flax?" he says almost conversationally. "Whenever there's even the hint of trouble or the vaguest whiff of insubordination, you're always there, aren't you?"

"You see the truth," I reply, gritting my teeth so my expression doesn't change despite my steadily rising fear. "And we both know it."

"Flax," whimpers Zib, sounding more pathetic than I've ever heard her as she reluctantly edges towards the door.

"Go," I tell her even as Stone roughly grasps my arm and starts to drag me past her. "Go now. And shut the others up later, Zib. You have to keep them quiet. Promise me you'll keep them quiet."

There's just time for me to see her nod in reply before I'm in the corridor and the door's swung shut, cutting us off from each other.

"That's the first sensible suggestion that's ever left your mouth. Because if they kick off then I will hang you, Paylor."

* * *

><p>It's freezing cold standing out here in the square. The thin linen shirt they made me put on already clings to my body, damp with a combination of sweat and the thin, fine rain that hasn't stopped since they ended the lockdown. It's starting to get dark, and I've attracted quite a crowd as people pause in their journey home from the factory to wait and hear my fate.<p>

The raised platform on my left has the hastily reconstructed gallows on one side and a whipping post on the other. When I look at Stone I can't begin to guess what he's thinking. I can barely think about anything but how this could be the last sunset I ever see. He can kill me if he wants to, and Panem knows he's wanted to for years.

"Not a bad turn out really," he says in a low voice, nodding his head sharply in the direction of a small group of people being led across the square.

As they get closer I recognise everyone who works on my floor of the factory, with Zib in front and Cali just behind her. Then I see Cam there too, and when I meet his eyes I will him to be able to read my mind, to be able to hear me mentally screaming at him to keep his mouth shut no matter what happens.

"People of District Eight!" begins Stone, projecting his voice so it travels to every corner of the square in a way that makes everyone else fall silent immediately.

Zib stands in front of all the others, her arms straight and raised slightly from her sides as if she's trying to be a one woman blockade stopping anybody from moving any closer. Even in the increasing darkness I can see the massive bruise on her face and the way her eye is so swollen she can't see properly. But still she never looks away.

"People of District Eight!" calls Stone again. "Even after all we've been through, here we are again! Your good Capitol provides you with food, shelter and employment, just as it always has done, and this is how you continue to repay us! With displays of lawlessness like that which I witnessed today. But no more! The time has come for it to end! For us to return to the peace we all benefit from!"

When he says that I know what he's trying to do. Every word is carefully selected to goad us into rebelling. He wants us to fight back. He wants us to give him a reason to subdue us permanently. I shake my head behind his back, straining against the rope that binds my hands as I try to make myself visible to as many of them as possible. If they fight back now then it's all over, probably forever.

"This woman assaulted one of those charged with keeping that peace, and now you will all see that such a grievous offence cannot go unpunished!"

This woman assaulted the man who would have beaten and raped my closest friend, I think to myself. That's a more accurate way to put it, and for the first time since they dragged me out here, my anger is greater than my fear.

Stone nods to the Peacekeepers who stand on either side of me and they drag me towards the platform. I watch as Cam pushes past the people surrounding him only for Zib to attempt to drag him back. I don't know what to think when another even smaller figure appears on his other side and moves to stand in front of him to block his way. Taffy. Of course she'd be here. They brought everyone who works with me in the factory, and that includes her.

They drag me towards the gallows and I hear Taffy's quickly muffled scream, but at the last second we change course and one of the Peacekeepers hastily fixes my hands to the top of the whipping post. I've seen this countless times before. I remember the day Zib was tied to this exact same post for stealing that stupid blanket. But I've never been the one on the platform.

What if I'm not strong enough? What if I scream? What will that look like to them all? They all think I'm a fighter, a rebel. What's it going to look like if Stone breaks me with a couple of lashes of that whip?

When I hear his boots as he climbs the steps to stand beside me, I know he's going to do it himself. Like I'm a real criminal. He only usually wields the whip when the person being punished is one step away from execution.

"I'm honoured," I growl before I can stop myself. "What a privilege this is."

"Shut it, Paylor," he snarls, leaning down so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. "Unless you want to scream for me. It might help end all this if you did. Your boyfriend's a step away from swinging already."

I close my eyes and turn away, only opening them when I'm looking back at the front row of the crowd. Taffy's still standing firmly in front of Cam, her hands on his as they rest on her narrow shoulders. I look straight at him as Stone's whip falls and I don't allow myself to blink even when the pain becomes too much and I slump down the post.

After the whip falls for a third time, the only thing keeping me upright is the rope that binds my hands, but still my eyes don't leave Cam's. I bite my lip until I can taste blood and still I don't stop. If I stop then I'll cry out, I'll scream, and I won't let myself do that.

Nobody in the square so much as coughs. The only sound is that of the whip whistling through the air and then smacking against what's left of my back. I expect Stone to stop when he gets to ten lashes but he doesn't. He keeps going because I know he's waiting for me to crack, or for someone in the crowd to step forwards and interrupt him so he's got an excuse to make someone swing.

Then the pain stops. One second I'm staring into Cam's dark eyes and then the next everything turns black.

* * *

><p>When I wake up again, the first thing that hits me is the pain. I didn't think it was possible to feel this much pain, and every time my body is jolted even slightly my world starts to turn to black again. I almost wish it would. Retreating to an oblivion where I can't feel anything is all I want, but I'd never be that lucky. My stupid, stubborn mind remains conscious.<p>

"Nearly there," says a familiar voice, making me realise I was the one making the groaning noise I thought was coming from somewhere else. "I'm taking you to Cali's. She'll know what to do."

"Cam?"

"Who else?" he replies, but I can't answer him because I open my eyes and all I see is the ground spinning around below me.

It's only when we finally stop that the pain reduces ever so slightly and I'm able to decide it's me that's upside down rather than everything else that surrounds me. Cam's carried me all the way from the main square to our block over his shoulder. I look down and see his previously white shirt is stained red with my blood.

"Flax? This is all my fault. I'm sorry, Flax, I'm so sorry."

"I'll be fine, Zib," I stammer, trying to ignore how even the small movement of lifting my head to look for her makes me want to pass out again. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"Get out of the way, Zibeline," sounds another familiar voice from behind me after I hear the sound of a door clicking open. "Bring her this way. Hurry up."

Then the jolting movement starts again as Cam steps forwards, and the next thing I know I'm lying on my stomach on what must be Cali's own bed.

"Stone will regret that one day," she whispers as she drags a small wooden table to the side of the bed and rests a bowl of water on top of it.

"Why? Because one day I'll die and come back to haunt him?"

"I'm older than you," she says. "I've long since lost count of the number of people I've heard screaming as Erebus Stone and those who came before him had them whipped to within an inch of their lives. But you didn't make a sound, Flax. You stood there in that square and it was like the punishment meant nothing to you. Half those people gathered there expected you to get up and walk away when he was done."

"So?"

"So you showed them all. Didn't you sense it? The air was full of defiance, not fear. We might have lost the battle but we haven't lost the war, Flax. And if you try then I reckon they'll all follow you."

"I didn't sense a lot of anything once that whip fell, Cali," I reply tiredly, but even as I speak I'm not sure.

When Katniss Everdeen came here on her Victory Tour we all chanted her name like a battle cry and I felt something then. In the square today the chanting was replaced by stony silence, but the atmosphere was the same. Grandpa told me before he died that he thought I had the strength to fight back, that people would follow me if I tried, and I never once believed him. It's taken something like this to make me think about changing my mind.

"You're a liar, Flax Paylor," she says. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I can see it in your eyes."

She doesn't speak after that and instead reaches into the basin of water and pulls out a cloth. Once she rests it on my back, I know no more.

* * *

><p>The pain is what wakes me up, and for some time I can think of nothing else. Then I open my eyes and see the only light in the room is coming from the small lamp on the table. I can tell from the shadows it throws onto the walls that it's still dark outside. Then I remember. I remember the reason my back feels like it's on fire, the reason I'm still lying on my stomach on Cali's bed. I try to move but stop straight away. I can't do it. It hurts too much.<p>

"Are you awake?"

"I wish I wasn't," I reply, scowling in response to the disgusting taste of dried blood in my parched mouth that I only notice now I've tried to speak. "What are you still doing here? If they catch you…"

Cam appears by the side of the bed seconds later, lifting a cup of water awkwardly to my lips. More of it goes on the pillow than into my mouth, but I force myself to smile anyway.

"We stayed here instead of trying to leave. As long as the Peacekeepers don't come knocking then they won't know we didn't go home. If they do then we'll just say we didn't want to go outside and get shot. Zib's across the hall with Cali."

I nod slightly, and it's only when I think about attempting to sit up and feel the chill air on my bare skin that I realise Cali must have cut my shirt off when she was cleaning my back. I subconsciously look away from Cam, lowering my head back onto the damp pillow.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," he says teasingly, brushing my hair back from my eyes so he can see my face properly.

"We were barely sixteen, Cam," I reply, forcing myself to look back at him. "I don't think it counts."

"It counted to me."

"Don't tell your station girl that or she won't want you," I say, smiling before I can stop myself.

He turns and walks away, and a short time later I hear the sound of dripping water, like someone wringing out a cloth. When he reappears I see from the piece of white fabric he carries that my guess was accurate.

"What are you doing with that?" I ask suspiciously, deciding that however much my back hurts now, it will hurt a whole lot more if anyone starts messing with it.

"Cali said it had to be changed every hour. That keeping your wounds cold will help. I didn't mind before. But then you woke up. Now I'm scared."

"And if you hurt me then you'll suffer once I've healed, Cambric Marshall, I promise you that."

"It's for your own good," he replies, grinning back at me. "Just ask Cali."

I glare back, but when he kneels down at the side of the bed I don't protest. He can be surprisingly gentle for someone used to moving massive crates full of fabric all day, and though it hurts when he replaces one piece of cloth with another, I manage to grit my teeth and remain silent.

"Cali says it'll scar real bad," he says eventually, quietly as if he can hardly bear to acknowledge something I knew to be true already and have hardly thought about.

"Doesn't much matter, does it?" I reply. "It's not like I'd win any beauty contests anyway."

He doesn't say anything and pushes my hair out of my eyes again instead.

"Stop staring at me," I tell him when he still hasn't looked away several minutes later.

He laughs and turns away only to look back again virtually straight away. I close my eyes and try to block out the pain. It doesn't work.

"People are talking, Flax," he says eventually, resting his elbows on the bed and letting his hands fall forwards onto my pillow. He still makes no move to get up. "Baize and the others at work. They've had time to think about what the Quell announcement means and they think it should be now."

"And what are they going to do? Take Eight and then wait a few months before flying to the Capitol and busting the Mockingjay out of the Training Centre? Get real, Cam. Why do you think it went wrong last time? We have to have patience. We have to wait."

"I think people are running out of patience."

"Then we'll all die," I reply flatly. "Have they all learnt nothing from what happened before?"

"They can't take much more of this. They've known freedom now, even if it was just for a day."

"Then they can go ahead," I snap, suddenly tired and in pain and in no mood for a debate like this. "I don't care. And I don't get it. What does it matter to anyone what I think?"

"It matters a lot," says Zib's voice from the doorway. She steps towards me and her bruises look even worse in this light. "This plan is all you. People want to fight but they're waiting for you to say the word. And you do care. That's the other reason why people care about what you think."

"Then they're stupid," I tell her, staring straight into her eyes as she moves to crouch down beside Cam. "All I did was make a couple of changes to Farlan's plan and make sure everyone knew about them. I'm no different to anyone else. And now I'm a lot worse than most because I'm not going to be able to stand up straight for a week."

She looks away from me at that, turning to the side and focussing on the cloth that covers my back. She gingerly reaches across and lifts it, just a small amount at one corner. I can tell when she sees what's underneath because she quickly looks away, her eyes closing. Her hand's cold as she replaces the fabric and then rubs the untouched skin of my side apologetically, but I don't try to push her away. She blames herself. She's confused because she thinks I should blame her too.

"I don't blame you, Zib," I say quietly, twisting around to look at Cali as she walks into the room and sits down on the bed. It dips slightly and I wince at the dart of pain that results. Her hand abruptly replaces Zib's against my side and I feel strangely like the old fountain in the middle of the square that everyone touches for luck before the reaping. I almost tell Cam he should try so he doesn't feel left out. Then I decide that would be a really bad idea. "But I don't understand how we've ended up like this," I continue, forcing myself to think of something more sensible. "I don't know how this has happened."

"How what's happened?"

"How everyone's ended up looking to me for direction. Sometimes I can barely get myself to work in the morning."

"You don't understand it and you don't want it," says Cali firmly. "But you've got it anyway. Like it or not, people watched Baize take those guns away and they know it was you who told him to do it. When the bombs fell you told them to shelter in the Capitol buildings and a lot more of them lived than would have done if you hadn't. There are a lot of determined people out there, people who don't want to serve the Capitol anymore, but they need someone to focus on, someone to tell them what to do when they don't know themselves. Farlan MacArthur did that for years but now he's dead. They need a replacement and they think that's you. They don't want to wait but if you tell them to then they will follow you. And so will we."

"Always," says Cam, ruining the moment by splashing my face with water out of the bowl.

"I've always wanted to be a proper rebel," says Zib, turning around so she can rest her head on the edge of my pillow. "And if someone's going to give the Peacekeepers what for then it might as well be us. What do you say?"

I stare into her brown eyes, and then at the various shades of purple, blue and green that mar her usually pale skin, and I don't know what to say. When I hear them talking like that it makes me want to agree. It makes me think that I should because it's what everyone wants and I don't really have anything to lose.

"Not yet," I reply eventually. "When the time's right. If it isn't then we'll end up dead. It'll be like last time all over again."

"Is that a yes?"

"What does everyone else think? I mean it. There's a difference between theory and reality."

"We got messages to the boys at the station," replies Cam, abruptly deadly serious. "And they passed them on to the granary. Everyone's just waiting for the word. But the armoury's not as simple."

"It wouldn't be. The Peacekeepers are cruel but they're not stupid."

"We could leave it until last," says Zib, but the look on her face tells me she didn't think we could even before she sees us all shaking our heads.

"No. When the time comes we put on our masks like we did before. Wait until their guard's down and it'll be just like before. Only this time we'll be ready for them. We get the guns we took from the Communication Centre and we try to take the armoury. If we can do that then we do what was always planned. We send people out of the district so they can spread the word. Send them in all directions, even towards Thirteen. If there are people there then they might help us finish what we started."

"That's a lot of ifs," says Cam softly.

"I didn't really mention the biggest if," I reply. "If something doesn't happen to make them reduce the Peacekeeper numbers here then it's all for nothing because we've got no chance."

* * *

><p>I spend the days and nights of the week that follows lying on Cali's bed, only moving when she comes home from work and helps me across the hall to the sitting room. She tells me everything that's going on, all the rumours people are spreading and what the gossips are whispering. It just makes me wish my back would hurry up and heal already. I can't bear sitting here doing nothing. I'm not used to it and it's driving me mad, especially when I'm reduced to being a burden to those I love.<p>

Then I hear the sound of the door clicking open, and I look at the clock in confusion because it's only just gone three. Cali will be at work for hours yet, so who would come calling at this hour? The others have all done everything they can to make sure as few people know I'm here as possible, but I suppose the Peacekeepers know. They always know. But what do they want with me now? How could they possibly be blaming me for something when they know I'm in no fit state to do anything?

"Who is it?" I call, forcing myself painfully to my feet and trying not to make a sound as I pick up a bottle off the dresser. "Who's there?"

Before I can reach the door it swings slowly open towards me, and I move to the side, raising the bottle so I'm ready to strike. When I see the small figure standing in the hall, I let my improvised weapon fall to the floor, and it takes all the strength I have not to join it. Every movement pulls on my wounds, and I have to stumble back to the bed before I collapse. So much for being the leader of the revolution. I'm sure I look like I couldn't drag myself to the bathroom on my own.

"What are you doing here, Taff? You should be at the factory."

"I told them I was sick. You should have seen me," she says, looking far too pleased with herself for my liking. "I pretended to faint and everything."

"And if they find you here?"

"I'm looking for something to take for my headache. Everyone knows Cali's good at that stuff."

"But Cali's not here," I reply, starting to shake my head in disapproval and then stopping because it hurts too much. "And lying comes too easily to you. Hasn't your mama ever told you that?"

She races across the room and bounces onto the bed beside me, before clutching at my hand when she sees the expression on my face.

"I'm sorry, Flax," she whimpers. "I'm really sorry."

"Taffy…just keep still now," I gasp, finally letting go of the breath I didn't realise I was holding.

She stops bouncing but doesn't let go of my hand.

"Cali said you were getting better."

"I am," I reply, rolling my eyes at her until she laughs. "But that was before you started frightening me to death by creeping around in here."

"I wanted to see you. The factory's not the same without you. People miss seeing you."

"Why would they want to see me?" I say, before narrowing my eyes pointedly. "Anyway, why are you really here?"

"Because I wanted to see you," she persists, shuffling closer in a way that tells me I'm not getting rid of her any time soon.

"You did go to school, didn't you?"

"Yes. Cora was being stupid. She doesn't usually talk to me but she was arguing with her friends so she sat next to me today. She was telling me about how she overheard her mama saying there's all this stuff the Capitol people can't get anymore. I just think she was trying to show off because she's a Victor's daughter."

Now she has my attention, and I suddenly forget any pain from my back. Cora's Cecelia's daughter. If anyone knows what's going on in the Capitol then it's going to be our sanest Victor.

"What sort of stuff?" I ask, sitting around and grasping her shoulders so she can't turn away.

"I can't remember."

"Try," I snap, shaking her slightly. Then I see her face fall and I force myself to smile. "Please, Taff. Try to remember what she said."

"Seafood, I think," she says eventually, closing her eyes in concentration. "And…and something else… You know those music players they've all got? Them."

I nod and let her go. When she leans against me again, I put my arm around her instead of pushing her away. All I can think about is what she just said. Seafood from District Four. Music players from District Three. If there are shortages in the Capitol then there must be something going on in the districts where the things are made or brought in from.

For the first time I truly dare to believe we're not alone. And if that's true then sooner or later something will happen, something will change. If we all fight then there's a chance we'll be strong enough. So we have to be ready, because some day that chance will come.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

In the end it was Cecelia they took. She and Woof lasted less than a day in the arena and we weren't surprised. We're no District One or Two. The people of District Eight expect to watch their tributes die, and we didn't think for one second that it would be any different with our Victors.

Ceci's children haven't been seen out of the Victor's Village since. When she was reaped it was in public for all to see, and I can still hear their screams ringing in my ears. Since she died they've kept their grief behind closed doors. For their own safety. Their father knows what he's doing. He's not standing in the square with the rest of us, watching the daily recap of events in the Games that killed his wife.

"This won't last," whispers Cam as the anthem finishes playing and the Capitol seal fades without us having to look at photographs of dead Victors first. "They'll be getting bored."

"They're up to something," I whisper back, looking up at the massive main square screen we've all been forced to gather around. It now shows live footage of Katniss and her allies trekking through the jungle with more purpose than they've shown for days. "They've got a plan."

"Let's hope so," says Cali, leaning towards us only to back away when she catches the eye of one of the many Peacekeepers.

They'd usually end the mandatory programming around this time, and the Peacekeepers would send us all home, no doubt so we weren't too tired to work properly the following morning. But today the picture on the screen doesn't fade, and we all continue to watch as Beetee from District Three wraps the end of a wire around a tree and then sends Katniss and that Johanna girl from Seven back down through the jungle.

"What's he doing that for?" asks Adie. She's huddled between Zib and her mother, and I can only just see her face in the darkness. "District Two are coming. And I don't want Katniss to die."

"Neither do we," replies Cam ominously, and though his voice is barely audible even to me when I'm standing right next to him, I send a glare his way anyway. Now isn't the time to be talking about Mockingjays and uprisings.

Katniss and Johanna keep going towards the beach, completely oblivious to the danger that's approaching, and minutes later the two Victor-tributes from Two almost trip over the wire. Or should I say that Brutus almost trips over it. Enobaria sees it instantly and almost skips across it, stopping and turning back to investigate while her district partner continues to gaze stupidly into the distance.

Seeing her makes me remember what it felt like to survive my last reaping, because the Sixtieth Games was my final year. Now I'm way past nineteen and the threat's just a memory, I like to think I'd have been a bit more resourceful in the arena than our average competitor if I'd ever had the misfortune of being chosen as tribute, but the thought of facing Enobaria Moreno across the Cornucopia still makes my blood run cold. She terrified me then and she terrifies me now. The cold, calculating anger in her eyes as she leans down to cut the wire with one of her many knives hasn't changed.

"No," gasps Zib seconds later, and I refocus on the screen to see Johanna Mason pinning Katniss to the ground, attacking her with a knife and then growling at her to stay down. "No, she can't."

"Hush, Zib," I hiss. "Not a word. You promised me."

She nods and steps closer without speaking again, and after that everything happening in the arena seems to pass by in an incomprehensible blur. It feels like every single person in the square is giving a collective sigh of relief as Katniss pulls herself to her feet and stumbles into the trees before Finnick Odair can find her. She doesn't trust him. She doesn't know who to trust anymore. I can't say I blame her. But at least she's alive.

Then she's staggering back up towards the tree, finding Beetee unconscious after he seemed to throw the knife he was carrying only to have it rebound straight back at him. When the camera zoomed in on it, I noticed the other end of the wire wrapped around it. I'd glanced at Cali then, because she's usually the one who understands these things, but she'd only shrugged her shoulders back.

By some miracle that will probably just about make Hunger Games history back in the Capitol, where I'm sure they care about such things, Peeta Mellark manages to kill Brutus. As soon as the man from Two's body hits the ground, his killer's already shouting for Katniss at the top of his voice.

"Shut up, stupid boy," growls Baize from the step in front of me. "You'll bring them straight down on you."

"Good," breathes Zib, breaking her promise yet again, and I know she says it because she wants Katniss to live. I'd tell her off, but I can't bring myself to because I agree with her.

My heart sinks when Katniss hears him and screams his name in return. She brings Enobaria and Finnick crashing towards her, still fighting as they go, and I only start breathing properly again when they are so distracted by each other that they don't see the dark-haired girl in the trees. Katniss raises her bow and nocks an arrow, narrowing her eyes as she focuses on Enobaria. We all stop breathing again.

But then she changes her mind. She lowers the bow and pulls the arrow away, and I suddenly want to be able shout loud enough for her to hear me even all the way away in the arena. She can't stop. She can't give up. If she gives up then how long will it be before everyone here does too? She can't.

But then she raises the bow and fires the arrow in one swift, fluid movement. Only she doesn't fire at Enobaria, she fires at the sky instead. There's a blinding flash of light as the lightning hits the tree she's standing beside, and it illuminates the thread of gold wire attached to her arrow.

Then the sky explodes and I instinctively raise my arm to cover my eyes.

* * *

><p>Still squinting against the too-bright light, I lower my arm and try to look at the screen again. Now it's like fireworks. Or should I say it's like the fireworks look when I've seen them on the screen before, usually when the Capitol's celebrating the Games and we're mourning yet another pair of dead tributes. I see a flash of what looks like a hovercraft, so quick I'd almost think I imagined it except I know I didn't, and then the whole thing blacks out.<p>

After a few seconds of everyone staring into the sudden darkness, the noise of hundreds of people talking all at once fills the square. Someone Capitolian must flick a switch, because the lights on the walls of all the buildings suddenly come on and I can't help noticing that most of the Peacekeepers look as confused as us.

"Did you see…?"

"Yes, Cam," I reply, speaking before he can finish his question. "I did."

"Good," he says. "I thought I imagined it."

"I saw it but I don't know what it means," I say, not sure if I'm talking to him or talking aloud to myself as a way of attempting to make sense of whatever's going on. "Do you think it means she's alive?" I continue, thinking of Katniss and that arrow she fired. If she survives a second arena then it might give the rebellion the boost it needs so it can begin for real. I don't want to think about her being dead.

"I don't know. I-"

However he doesn't get chance to finish what he was saying because Head Peacekeeper Stone's voice ringing out across the city through the loudspeaker forces everyone into silence. He's telling everyone to return to their homes, and when every Peacekeeper in the square takes their gun off their shoulder and steps forwards, nobody dares to protest.

* * *

><p>They fired warning shots when we didn't move quickly enough for them, and after what happened before, that was enough to start the stampede. There were people fleeing in every direction, crying out in panic, and I somehow got separated from the others in the rush through the crowded streets of the outer city. That's how I find myself alone and pushing open the door to the dark, lonely place I used to call home.<p>

It might be summertime, but it's freezing cold in here. There's no wood for the fire because I didn't have chance to get any before we had to go to the square to watch the Games, and I barely have any food. If they put us on lockdown again then it'll be a race between hypothermia and starvation to see which one can kill me first.

I wish Grandpa was still here. Every time I come here I walk into the bedroom and look at the bed, expecting to see him there, expecting to hear him teasingly ask me if I managed to get through the day at work without starting a fight or getting into trouble. But his voice is just a memory and his body's lying in one of the many numbered graves in the cemetery. If I could afford it then I'd get him a headstone, or even a bunch of flowers. I can't.

When I quickly decide I can't bear to keep looking at it, I close the door on the bedroom and retreat to what has become my usual place, curled up on Grandpa's old armchair. I cover myself with every item of clothing and every blanket I possess. I'm still cold. I wish I wasn't on my own.

* * *

><p>After an hour or so of sitting there shivering, I start to try and distract myself by thinking about what happened in the arena. I saw a lot of things, but I didn't see the Games end. Before the screen blacked out, Johanna, Peeta, Finnick, Beetee, Enobaria and, most importantly, Katniss were still alive. So the Games can't be over. Which means something else happened to make the Capitol pull the plug on the live footage. But what?<p>

Whatever it is, those Peacekeepers in the square had certainly received orders to get us out of there quickly. I can't quite hold back the tiny spark of hope I feel when I think of that. If they didn't want us to see then it must at the very least be something they didn't plan. And then there was that hovercraft I'm sure I saw. What if they didn't plan that either? I've heard the rumours and the hearsay about shortages in the Capitol. What if we weren't the only ones who tried to fight back? What if there are others fighting right now? What if this is the chance we've been waiting for? What if it's finally time for me to say 'Mockingjay'?

* * *

><p>By the time morning comes I'm a nervous wreck and I haven't slept at all. I didn't ask for any of this, but for some reason people seem to be listening to what I have to say. They're putting the responsibility of all this on my shoulders, and no matter how many times I've recited the plan in my head last night alone, I'm scared. If I get it wrong then they'll die. Everyone I love will die. But even as I think that, I also know that if there's a chance we might win then I won't do nothing. I'm not the only one who wants freedom. I'm not the only one willing to risk my life to get it. We all want the same thing.<p>

To my surprise, just as I'm rummaging through the cupboard in the hope I'll find something to eat, the buzzer that tells us it's time to go to work sounds, as deafeningly loud as ever. I give up on my search straight away and head for the door. I might be hungry but at least I won't be alone with my thoughts.

When I reach the courtyard outside my block, Cam's there waiting for me, leaning casually against the wall with that lazy grin I remember from when we were young enough to still be at school. It's only as I continue to stare at him that I realise what's strange. He's standing there and nobody's telling him to move. For the first time since the failed uprising, there's no Peacekeeper waiting to push him along in the direction of the factories.

"It's all I had," he says, sounding almost apologetic as he holds a crust of stale bread out to me. "But as I know you won't have eaten anything at all…"

"Sorry, Mother," I reply, pretending to sulk but taking the bread anyway.

"We lost you in the crowd last night."

"And the award for stating the obvious goes to…"

He laughs, his real laugh for a change, and pushes me forwards down the dirt track. I grab the sleeve of his jacket and drag him with me, pausing only to link up with Zib, Adie and Cali. A short time later, Baize finds us, and as Taffy rushes to my side, her father says what I've been thinking since I saw Cam leaning against the wall.

"Where've they all gone, Flax?"

I make a pretence of looking around even though I've already seen that the number of Peacekeepers seems to have reduced significantly since this time yesterday. I can see them waiting for us at the top of the main street that leads to the factories, but yesterday they were outside the tenements as well.

My heart is in my mouth by the time we're almost at work. I sense their eyes on me. In fact I feel like every man, woman and child is staring at me, waiting for me to say the word. Or not.

The Capitol's trying to act like nothing's changed. The Peacekeepers are there like normal now we're in the centre of the city, we're going to work as usual, but things aren't the same. Something happened in the arena last night. Otherwise they'd be directing us to the square to watch the mandatory morning programme summarising what happened in the Games while we were sleeping rather than sending us straight to the machines. And I can see the overseers exchanging nervous glances however much they're trying to hide it.

I stumble forwards, kicking Baize as I deliberately fall to my knees. He stops, leaning down to help me up, and I pretend to fall further so he lifts me and I have an excuse to rest my head on his shoulder.

"Mockingjay," I breathe. "Tonight."

He smiles faintly when he puts me back on my feet, more with his eyes than with his mouth, and after loudly asking if I'm hurt, he waits for me to shake my head before turning and walking away. That's it now. It's too late to turn back. By the time we've finished work for the day, the word will have travelled across the district. This is it. It's literally now or never.

I turn to see if I'll have chance to whisper to Zib before we're under the watchful gaze of the overseers, but when I see the look in her eyes, I immediately realise that she already knows. When we've clocked on and are heading towards what could be our last ever day of boring, mindless monotony, she links her arm through mine. Her whole body's shaking. She wants this. Perhaps even more than I do.

I don't know if that makes it better or worse.

* * *

><p>When it starts it's so like last time that I have to take a deep breath and force myself to keep moving, telling myself that now we won't fail, that it will turn out differently in the end because it has to. I pull the fabric mask tighter so it doesn't slip and charge off across the square. I'm not going to the Communication Centre this time. It isn't going to be like before.<p>

Then I don't have time to think. People are better prepared this time. They have metal posts instead of wooden ones, large stones we've been moving individually for the past three months instead of the small ones that usually litter the floor to use as missiles, a planned place to shelter from gunfire so they don't have to run blindly once the Peacekeepers start to shoot. But all of the planning in the world doesn't take away the horror. It doesn't take away the images of the dying crawling along the ground leaving trails of blood behind them. I know I'll see them forever, no matter what happens in the end. And it's worse this time because if I hadn't said the word then it wouldn't be happening.

Caught up in the moment, I soon join in, flinging rocks and stone from the many collapsed buildings at the Peacekeeper's shields. We're at the other side of the square before I know it, and I stumble down the side road that leads to the back entrance to the Justice Building.

"There aren't so many of them," says a familiar voice from deep in the shadows. "You were right to say go."

"I hope so, Luce," I reply as she steps slowly towards me, so slowly that I know she's injured before I see the blood on her shirt. My heart sinks. Lucet was in the group Zib was meant to be taking to the armoury. "What happened?"

"I was running for the armoury like you said. But one of the bastards got me. Now I guess I won't get to see us get them out."

"Don't talk like that. Stay where you are. Hide. I'll find you when it's over."

"You can't save everyone, Flax."

"I can try," I retort, tearing a strip of cloth from my own shirt and attempting to wrap it around her shoulder. "Did Zib get out?"

She nods. "Most of them did. We were away before the Capitolians really knew what was happening."

"Good," I say, but before I can say anything else I hear a series of gunshots and then someone crashes into me and throws me to the ground in one of the Justice Building's brick archways. "What are you doing?"

"Saving your life," replies Cam, only just realising his weight's crushing me and pushing himself up. "They've got their snipers on the roofs now," he adds dryly.

"Where's Luce?"

"She went that way," he says, pointing into the darkness. "We're going to have to leave her, you know that, don't you?"

I nod and climb to my feet. "When I say go, we run."

"Fine," he replies, looking sharply down at me before scanning the dark passageway ahead.

"Cam?"

"What?"

"Thanks."

He just shakes his head and grasps my wrist. "Go," he hisses, and the next thing I know we're racing back towards the square.

"We have to get to the armoury!" I scream, hoping my eyes aren't deceiving me when I look all around and see a lot more rebels than Peacekeepers. "We have to go now! Over there!"

"Did you see Baize?" he replies, also shouting at the top of his voice so I can just about hear him over the noise of the mob pouring fuel over the gallows.

The hastily restored wooden structure catches alight with a loud bang, and my heart leaps when I see the uniform worn by the dead man hanging there. It's Head Peacekeeper Stone, and I don't care if my reaction makes me a bad person. If we can get to him then we're winning, and everyone remotely close enough to see the gallows fall cheers in response. I cheer as well, before reaching down to pick up a rock and flinging it with all my strength in the direction of the squadron of Peacekeepers who've just emerged into the square.

The people get the hint and immediately begin to bombard them with anything they have to hand. Cam grasps my arm and starts to drag me back, but just as I start to turn I see Cali run forwards and throw what looks like a bucket at the nearest group of Peacekeepers before reaching back down to the ground for something else. They laugh at her and raise their guns to fire, but before they can, she throws what looks like a tiny ball of flames in their direction.

The liquid the bucket contained explodes as soon as the fire touches it, leaving those few white-uniformed soldiers who weren't killed instantly writhing around on the ground in agony. I watch as caring, fierce but gentle Cali stands and stares.

"That was for Dimity!" she screams, watching for a second as the pool of blood spreads across the floor before beckoning to the people watching and leading them in the other direction. Towards the Justice Building, just like I told her.

"I think she's been waiting forty years to say that," I say as we start our race across the square again, not thinking of the Dimity who died in the Seventy-fourth Games but the one who died in the arena forty years ago. She was Cali's sister and that's all I know because my friend won't talk about what happened, but it's easy to see that no amount of time could make her forget.

Cam shrugs his shoulders as we run. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"See Baize. Did he go to get the guns?"

"Yes," I reply, "but-"

Then I stop mid sentence as we reach our target and I slam a plank of wood into the throat of a Peacekeeper who'd been trying to make his escape in one of the open-top trucks they use for patrols. He collapses forwards and Cam drags him out of the driver's seat, dumping him contemptuously on the floor.

"But what?"

"It doesn't matter," I say, nodding towards the truck. "Let's go."

"I never said I could drive, Flaxie," he replies, somehow teasingly mocking both of us at the same time.

"Do you seriously think I can?"

"You're a smart girl," he replies, wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me onto the seat before climbing over me to sit on the other side. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

I look at him doubtfully but he turns out to be right. When we have to duck behind the windscreen because of the bullets heading our way, I figure it out soon enough. Though our ride out of the square is anything but smooth, we get away quickly enough.

While I'm trying to get used to steering, I accidentally make the truck swerve onto the platform that used to hold the gallows, and when the masked crowd begin to cheer again, I realise I hit the whipping post hard enough to send it crashing to the ground. And they think I did it deliberately. I sit up straighter so they can see me, and they shout even louder. It's only when the bullets start flying and Cam jerks me back down into my seat that I return to reality.

"It's no good being famous if you're dead, Paylor," he growls as we speed off down the dirt track towards the armoury, hoping that people remembered the plan and are already there.

* * *

><p>I don't know what I expected to see when I got there, but the sight of the forbidding warehouse the Peacekeepers have always used as an armoury leaves me speechless. I didn't think it would be easy to take this place. I thought it would be somewhere they'd guard as well as they possibly could right until the last. But it seems I was wrong, because when Cam and I get out of the truck, we are greeted by a battered but jubilant Zib as she leads a group of rebels towards us.<p>

"What's going on?" I call, catching the handgun she throws in my direction.

"The armoury's ours," she replies, the look in her eyes making me think there's something she's not telling me. "There weren't that many of them here, and half of them were asleep."

"Asleep? What do you mean?"

"Asleep as in drugged, I think," she says, grinning wildly at the people who have crowded around us. "We locked them all up."

"Separately, I hope."

"Yes, Commander Paylor," she choruses back. "Whatever you say, Commander Paylor."

"Shut it," I reply, speaking before I remember that we have an audience. "So we really have control here?" I continue, hoping it isn't too late to try to sound like I know what I'm doing.

"Yes," she replies. "I've set a guard and made sure everyone's armed."

"Then we should go back to the city centre. We're not done yet."

She nods and beckons to two men behind her. I vaguely recognise them because they work with Cam shipping the crates to the station. I'm surprised when they nod respectfully to me before turning and disappearing off back into the armoury.

"Where are they going?"

"We were losing, Flax," she says with a sigh. "There were fewer of them than we expected but we were still losing. For ages we couldn't get inside, but then we could…"

"I don't understand."

"Someone let us in," she replies, looking back when we both hear the footsteps of the two men returning, dragging another man in a filthy white uniform between them. Looking at him closely, I see his jacket is inside out, with the black lining on the outside. "This someone."

When they stop, the prisoner groans and tries to raise his head. "I'm…on…your side," he gasps, sagging back against his captors immediately after.

"He's one of them," hisses Cam. "Bang him up with the rest and let's go."

I look at the man, forcing myself not to instinctively shrink away from the uniform he wears, and eventually he raises his head again. Then Zib whacks him on the head with a piece of wood and he blacks out again.

"Put him in the back of the truck. He might know something useful."

"Do it," I snap, nodding my head in the direction of the truck and watching as they drag him over there.

* * *

><p>We abandon the truck at the top of the road that leads to the cemetery, and quickly leave the two men who'd carried the prisoner before to deal with him again. We're not that far from the centre of town and the massive tenement blocks we all live in tower over our heads, but I can see no people at all.<p>

"They're all hiding or fighting," says Cam, seeming to read my mind.

"Let's hope they're fighting," I reply grimly as we all silently decide to melt into the shadows.

Then as we get closer we start to hear them. The noise that was just a low indistinguishable buzzing before is recognisable as gunfire, and the screams of the dead and the dying carry through the air so I can't escape them no matter how I try to block them out.

When I see a group of shadowy figures up ahead, I instinctively raise my gun and get ready to fire. Then I see the torn, filthy rags they're wearing and the masks that cover their faces. Rebels, not Peacekeepers. We're still fighting, and no matter what state we're all in, my heart lifts slightly at the sight of them.

"What's happening?" I ask the nearest man, who looks just about old enough to have known my grandpa when he was in his prime and seems to be the one in charge.

"The fighting's still fierce in the square. They came at us and we had to fall back. There were too many of them. We all thought we'd had it. But then Baize Sheridan turned up, and he had all these guns. Said the Paylor girl told him to hide them away last time. Now the Capitol's getting a taste of its own medicine."

"And what are you all doing out here?" I ask. I thought he'd recognised me, but obviously I was wrong.

"Got no bullets left. Didn't want my lads getting blown up unarmed," he replies, nodding in the direction of his companions. When I look at them closely, I can tell they look more than a little like him even with their masks on.

"Well that's a problem I can do something about," I say, nodding to Cam, who takes a couple of the guns he'd been carrying off his shoulder and holds them out to the old man. "Do you know how to fire them?"

"I didn't," he admits, "but I learnt pretty quick last time."

"Good," I say. "Now we're going up to the main square to try and send the rest of the Peacekeepers back to where they came from. Are you coming?"

He turns around and starts walking down the road instead of replying, but when he pushes the other men along as well and then looks back at me, I realise I already have his answer.

"Your Grandpa would be proud of you, girl," he says.

I feel the heat of tears forming in my eyes and before I can control my emotions for long enough to think of a reply he turns away and refocuses on the path ahead.

* * *

><p>It doesn't take us long to reach the city centre, but we soon find that most of the roads leading to the square are blocked.<p>

"Now what?" asks the youngest of our new companions, looking at the man who's more likely to be his grandfather than his father.

"If we go that way then we'll come to the back of the Communication Centre," I say, putting my finger to my lips to tell him to keep his voice down. "There's a passage that will lead us into the square."

They all obey me unquestioningly, and it's only when I turn to see the grin on Cam's face that I know my surprise must show on my face. I scowl at him and check my gun's ready to fire, trying to ignore the sudden increase in noise coming from up ahead.

"Where's Baize?" I hiss once Cam and I have finally reached the front of the Communication Centre and are able to peer around the corner of the building into the square.

"You sent him to the Justice Building. If we head for there then we might find him."

"What are they doing?" I shout suddenly, barely hearing his answer to my question because I'm too horrified by what I can see in the square. "They're just asking to be shot! They have to find cover, it's the only way!"

I step forwards instantly and without thinking, moving in the direction of the rebels who are streaming out into the open in response to the appearance of newly arrived Peacekeeper reinforcements.

"Flax!"

Cam's voice sounds distant in comparison to the explosion which throws me backwards and sends me skidding across the ground. There's another loud bang and more shards of broken glass rain down on me. They've got grenades, or something similar, a sophisticated, Capitol version of what Cali created earlier.

"Get back!" I shout, trying to push myself up and yelping with pain as I put most of my weight on my left arm and shoulder.

I reach my hand up to my neck and when I pull it away, its wet with blood. I can feel something solid there, a piece of glass or metal from one of the buildings, and when I hear footsteps racing towards me, I quickly pull it out. Cali would probably kill me if she knew, because I've got no way of telling how deep it is, but I can't be obviously wounded now. Everyone's watching me. I have to look strong.

"Are you all right?" gasps Cam as he drags me back towards shelter. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Honestly," I say, trying to look and sound convincing. Then I see the other rebels, once more getting ready to charge the Peacekeeper lines. "Get back inside!" I scream, racing back across the edge of the square, jumping over the dead and dying and trying not to think about the horror of what I'm seeing. "You have to get them back inside!"

"Says who?" is the reply I get from the man nearest to me. If he was ever wearing a mask then it's long since fallen off, and I vaguely recognise him as one of the very few lucky enough to not have been where he should have been in the uniform factory when Farlan MacArthur was blown up. "They want to fight, let them fight. That's what we're out here for!"

"Fight, not die!" I yell back, reaching up and yanking my mask off so he can see my face. "Help me get them back inside!"

He stares at me for what must only be a split second but feels like several minutes, before spinning on his heel and adding his voice to mine until we find ourselves in the entrance hall of the Justice Building. I race towards the stairs, pushing past all of my fellow rebels, not slowing down until I reach the massive window that overlooks the square.

"Get anyone with a gun to a window," I say, and the man who'd questioned me moves away immediately as I gaze down at the Peacekeepers. There aren't as many of them as there were last time, and the uncertainty I can see in their expressions gives me the confidence to turn around to stand at the top of the stairs and address the rather battered but still defiant looking crowd. "Get them out of the square and we can get them out of the district!" I shout. "You and you," I continue, pointing to Darry and the woman by his side. "Take two groups out the back, go around through the buildings and wait where you can see the front of here. When the doors open, you go."

The sound of the guns starts again and I know by the shouts from the square that the Peacekeepers are now being fired upon by attackers they can't see to fire back at. It's only as I stand watching everyone running to their posts that I feel the sharp pain in my shoulder again, and when I look down I see the crimson red of blood mixed in with the dust and mud on my shirt. I pull the freezing, soaking fabric back from the wound and then immediately return it. I don't have time to think about that now. If I can still move then I'll be fine.

"Now what?" asks Cam as he drags me away from the centre of the mob. I don't miss the way his eyes narrow when he sees my shoulder.

"It's nothing," I lie. "Most of the blood's not mine. What do you mean 'Now what'? We fight. Like we said we would. Let's go."

* * *

><p>This time when we charge them, protected by covering fire from the men and women in the windows of the buildings, they turn and run. I know their commanders try to make them stand because I can hear them shouting in their heavy Capitolian accents, but eventually even they realise they're outnumbered.<p>

Though they turn back and try to use the shelter of the buildings to give them a position to fight from, they're still reinforcements flown in from somewhere else. We know these narrow winding streets better than they ever could.

I'm at the head of the rebel line when we reach the edge of the city, and I scream for everyone to pull back when I see the group of hovercrafts waiting there. If they're bombers then all we've achieved will be for nothing, any advantages we've won will be cancelled out in a matter of seconds, but when I look closer I see the Peacekeepers climbing inside them.

One by one the crafts vanish, and we all stand there too stunned to speak.

* * *

><p>Later on I'm looking across the square as the dust slowly settles. I look up at the dull, grey sky. I look in every direction I can because I can't believe it's over. I'm not stupid enough to think this is it, but for now there's nothing. No white-uniformed soldiers, no bombers, just us. And we're standing in a district that at this moment is ours. Ours, not theirs, and even though the cut on my shoulder stings like mad and every muscle in my body aches, I can't stop smiling.<p>

"We got a bit further than last time then," says Cam, and I laugh when he and Cali both turn to hug me at the same time.

The more time that passes without the sound of battle echoing around the crumbling buildings, the more people emerge from their places of shelter. Everywhere I look there are men and women of all shapes and sizes, and even some children, all stumbling over the rubble. Their faces tell me they don't quite believe this is real any more than I do.

Many of them are wounded, bruised and bleeding. There are people carrying others who can't walk themselves, people digging amongst the remains of buildings, calling out for those they've lost. How those who were hiding know it's all over, I have no idea. It's only just quieter now than it was when we were still fighting.

But then a loud crash stops everyone. I spin around and look up at the Justice Building. The first thing I notice is that for the first time ever in my memory, the flag bearing the Capitolian seal is missing. When I lower my gaze to the ground, I see it there, lying in the dust.

"District Eight!" screams a very familiar voice from the balcony, and I watch as Zib steps forwards and sends the flagpole down as well.

When she shouts for a second time, she isn't alone, and our combined cry of freedom fills the main square more than any Capitol visitor's voice ever could on Reaping Day. It's only when I lift my hand to my face that I realise I'm crying. Happy tears this time. Grandpa would have loved this.

I expect them to stop chanting after a while, but they don't. Battered and bruised though they are, they've waited their whole lives for this, just like I have. They're making the most of it and I don't blame them. I just wish they wouldn't keep coming up to me to give me a hug or a pat on the back. Every person that looks my way seems to attract another two. I hate being the centre of attention like this. I want to put my mask on again.

"You can't go back now," says Cam, grinning down at me when I meet his eyes and silently plead for escape. "Listen."

I stop and do as he says, and I honestly don't know what to think when I hear that the crowd has changed its chant so they're shouting my name back at me.

"I think they want a victory speech," says Darry, appearing beside me and ruffling my hair like he's done ever since I was twelve years old and working my first day at the factory.

"No way," I reply instantly, moving backwards as soon as I decide the blood I can see on his shirt isn't his. "No… I mean it. No-."

"They've fought for you, Flax," interrupts Cali, resting a badly burnt hand on my arm. "Died for you-"

"They fought and died for District Eight," I reply sharply, and I hear the fear in my own voice. "Not for me. Just like I fought and would have died with them. But I did no more than anyone else."

"So why are they chanting your name? Because they all know you. Because they stood where they're standing now and watched Stone whip you, and then listened as you ignored it and kept thinking of new ways to bring the Capitol in Eight down. Like it or not, Flax Paylor, they associate you with this uprising, just like they associate the rest of the war with Katniss Everdeen. You owe them a few words, I think."

I shrug my shoulders, defeated by her words, and then turn to look at Cam. He hasn't left my side since this whole thing started, but I can tell by the look in his eyes that he's with Cali on this one. When I take my first step towards the Justice Building, he's right behind me.

"People of District Eight!" I call once I reach the top of the massive flight of stone stairs.

Those closest to me look up, but nobody else does. I take a deep breath and reach for the red button on the side of the stand. This is where the Capitol escort announces the names of the two people who are going to die in the Games each year, this is where Stone announces yet more ration cuts when we're starving and the Capitolians are living like kings. But Grandpa always used to tell me that if I'm going to do something then I should make sure I do it properly. The memory of his words makes me push the button and try again.

"People of District Eight!" This time my voice rings out across the square, and everyone stops to listen. "People of District Eight, you'll have to forgive me! Because I'm no good at speeches, and now there are no Capitolians here to help me out!"

The roar that comes back at me when I say that almost knocks me off my feet. At first I wonder if this is what our escort feels on Reaping Day. Then I realise the response I'm getting is nothing like that. It's on a new level, and I wish I was down there with them instead of being up here, because then I could join in.

I quickly realise that I have no idea what to say, and if I'm honest then I'm far too close to crying to be able to get my words out anyway. My first thought is to back away and do nothing, but then I look down at them all and change my mind.

I don't know what makes me do it but before I know it, I'm lifting my arms into the air and they're all cheering even louder than they were before, screaming so loud that it's easy to imagine them being heard in the Capitol. Part of me wishes they could be. The rest of me desperately wishes Snow's not just torturing us with hope before he lets the axe fall again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you to Obiwanlivesforever for letting me borrow Dimity, and to Evan, Maddie and Phoenix Refrain for reviewing last week. <strong>_

_**If you've read this far then I wish you'd talk to me... **_


	5. Chapter 5

_**For those of you who read my 'Freedom' series, I hope you get the reference to part of 'Illusion' in this chapter...**_

Chapter Five

"Whoever's going needs to go now," I say, sensing Baize and Cam's presence by my side without having to look away from the crowd below me. "They won't have a better chance."

"Most of them are ready. But you saw Luce. Cali found her and patched her up but she's not going anywhere."

"Then find someone to go in her place. If you can't then I'll go."

"Don't be ridiculous," replies Baize. "You're probably the least expendable person in the district right now."

I step back towards the doors of the Justice Building and roll my eyes at him. "Fine, but go find them and send them on their way. They have to get out while they can. Before it all starts again."

"You don't think it's over?"

"Of course not," I say softly, so as few people can hear me as possible. "The Capitol won't let us go without more of a fight than that. And the government will know that if word of this gets out then it won't be long before the others are having a go as well. Oh, and send anyone you think might have a clue what they're doing up to the Communication Centre. I'll meet you there later. One way or another we have to get the word out."

However it takes me at least a couple of hours to get there in the end. Everywhere I look there are people, and I can't help thinking that most of them look lost now they don't have the Capitol to tell them what to do. I try to set them simple tasks to keep them occupied, like gathering food and fuel or first aid supplies, but it seems to take forever.

By the time I'm standing in what we've taken to be the main control room, watching Cali and a group of about ten others trying to figure out a way of broadcasting out, I feel like I've had enough of being in the public eye to last a lifetime. I'd give anything for a few minutes peace and quiet, and that's what makes me leave the room and head off down the corridor. If I explore this place then I might find something useful, and at least I'll be alone.

I'm not really thinking about where I'm going as I walk slowly along. Many of the doors I find are sealed shut, but after shooting a bullet through the lock of one only to find nothing but an empty room, I soon give up and start ignoring them. There'll be time for that later.

I find storerooms full of food, of paper, pens and other mechanical things I don't recognise, and even fine winter clothes. I shake my head and take a couple of jumpers off a shelf. They watched us half freeze to death every winter when the whole time they had all this stuff. And then they expected us to love them?

When I go down a wide staircase and around a corner, I instinctively reach for my gun at the sight of the two men standing in the corridor. They seem to be guarding a door, and when they see me, they stand to attention instantly. I inwardly groan. So much for peace and quiet.

"Why are you down here?" I call, not quite willing to lower my gun.

"We were told to guard the prisoner for you, Commander Paylor. He's in there."

For me? Since when has he been my responsibility? Since when has this been anything to do with me? But I say nothing of that to the guards and walk a bit closer instead.

"Who told you that?"

"That one who unloads the crates at the station. The one with the little girl who's always following him."

Baize. At least there must be some element of truth in what they're telling me then. It's enough to make me start to swing my gun back across my shoulder, but I stop when I see one of them take a key from his pocket and reach for the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you in so you can talk to him. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Someone needs to hear what he's got to say," I reply, deciding it's bound to end up being my job eventually so I might as well get it over with.

I walk quickly into the room before I change my mind.

* * *

><p>At first I think he's sitting on a chair in the middle of the room out of choice, but I soon see he's only sitting on it because he's tied to it. There are bindings at his ankles and wrists, and a thick rope across his broad chest that looks so tightly tied I'm surprised he can breathe. He looks up at me when the guard closes the door, his almost black eyes flashing in the dim light. I can't decide if it's anger or humiliation I'm seeing, but I feel my own rage rising up at the mere sight of his uniform.<p>

"So this is what I get for betraying everything I'm supposed to stand for? Tied to a chair in a basement so I can be interrogated by an amateur like you. I don't know why I bothered."

I snarl and backhand him across the face so hard that the chair he's sitting on rocks sharply and I think it's going to fall. But then he somehow manages to right himself, his expression of defiance never faltering. I stare back at him, more shocked by the force of my own reaction than anything else. I try not to let it show.

"So the rebel girl's got anger management issues now? Courageous, hitting an unarmed man who has his hands tied. Why don't you untie me and we'll sort out our differences the proper way instead?"

"Like I'm that stupid," I reply, making myself meet his eyes when he continues to stare unblinkingly up at me.

He laughs and shakes his head, looking at me the whole time. "If only they'd sent the little fierce one. She's like the girls back home. She'd have said yes." I know he means Zib but the rest of it makes no sense, and it's an effort not to let my confusion show as he carries on. "Who are you anyway? Why have they sent you? Whoever's running this show can't know much if they put you in charge of interrogation."

"I ask the questions, not you," I snap, making sure I focus on his uniform rather than his face.

"I'm on your side. I turned my coat and the others all saw so you know I can't go back."

"And how do I know you're not a triple agent? You betrayed your own city so why should I trust you?"

He looks away from me for the first time when I say that, although I'm not entirely sure why. The defiance seems to fade until he appears more ashamed and defeated than anything else. For some reason beyond that of my no doubt inferior interrogation skills, I don't think that's anything to do with me.

"Why's it up to you who's trusted and who isn't?" he asks, confirming my suspicions instantly.

I hit him instead of trying to answer that, only not as hard this time. Then I realise I'm getting weak and letting him talk me down, so I hit him a third time and the chair rocks again. Now I've heard him speak and can see more than just the stained white uniform, it feels wrong.

The next time I look at him I see a cut on his lip, and when I lift my hand I see blood on my knuckles. It reminds me of the blood on the streets outside, of all the dead lying where they fell because of his kind. But then he speaks again and the images fade.

"Is doing that making you feel better?" he says, and the smug smirk on his face as he looks up at me and laughs almost makes me raise my hand again. "If that's your thing then fine, but I'd like to still look like myself when you're through if it's all the same to you. And you've already decided my truth's not what you want to hear so this could take a while. You might want to pace yourself a bit."

His words make me stop to think. Perhaps I should have let Cam question him. Even Zib would probably be better at this than me, although having said that, that probably wouldn't have been wise because as he worked out for himself, he'd have long since managed to talk his way out of those bindings with her.

"What's your name?" I ask, deciding to try a different tactic more because I haven't the energy to keep hitting him than for any other reason.

"What's yours?"

I say nothing and keep watching him, refusing to let my expression change even when he smiles at me and shakes his head.

"Maybe you're not as bad at this as I first thought. Your boss would be proud of you, whoever and wherever they are. Paylor, isn't it? That's the name they were all chanting when they ran us…I mean ran the Peacekeepers out of town."

I shrug my shoulders.

"You should tell your Paylor to find someone who knows how to use the equipment upstairs. If you call then Thirteen might answer now. Or they might be trying to reach you."

"There is no Thirteen," I snap, fighting a fierce internal battle to stop myself from outwardly reacting to what he says. "And even if there is then they aren't interested in helping us. They'd have come six months ago if they were."

"I was told to come here and make sure the rebellion wasn't subdued this time. I was told to help you rebels take control of this place if I could. And that's what I did."

"Who told you? Someone in the imaginary District Thirteen that exists only in your head? Or someone who sent you here to spy on us so the Capitol knows exactly who to publicly execute when the reinforcements come rolling into town?"

"You've heard the rumours about Thirteen and you want them to be true. I can see it in your eyes."

"Who told you?" I shout, jumping to my feet and then using every last bit of willpower I have to stop myself from grasping the front of his shirt and shaking him. If he's got something to say then I wish he'd just say it.

"Plutarch Heavensbee," he replies flatly. "And he's spoken to Thirteen. He's been working with them. He's on his way there right now."

"Plutarch Heavensbee's the Head Gamemaker. And you're telling me he's a rebel. That's crazy."

"It's true. It's a long story that I only know a tiny bit of, but it's true."

"I don't believe you."

"You can believe what you like, it doesn't change the facts. But if I were you right now then I think I'd be wanting it to be true."

"I want a lot of things, but it doesn't make them happen. So Heavensbee's a rebel and he's on his way from the Capitol to Thirteen?" He nods in confirmation. "With the Mockingjay?" I say, suddenly too drawn into the conversation to remember I'm supposed to be his interrogator. "With the Victors the Capitol can't account for after the Quell?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Guessed," I reply. "The Games didn't end with a victory, but they weren't still televising it and making us watch. Something's going on. I suppose I'm just trying to be optimistic for once by hoping there's someone out there who can stop the Capitol from strolling in and taking this place right back off us. So is Heavensbee with the Mockingjay?"

"Probably. If she's still alive."

"Then they're going to fight?" I ask, not wanting to think about the alternative. "We're going to take on the Capitol?"

"So it would seem. Or there's been a lot of people going to a lot of effort for nothing."

"It's mad, but it makes sense. After what happened during the Quell, and everything Farlan said," I say, talking more to myself than to him.

"So you believe me?"

"I didn't say that. You won't even tell me your name. And that rank and number you were quoting before doesn't count," I add, remembering the only thing he would say when Baize and the others first dragged him out of the truck earlier.

"My name's Lucan."

"Lucan what?"

"Soldier of the Peacekeepers. Of the Tenth Capitolian, if you must know. I have no other name."

"Of course you do. Even Capitolians have proper names. Sort of."

"I'm not Capitolian," he growls, throwing his head back to get his hair out of his eyes. "Maybe knowing that will make you trust me."

"So what's your name and where are you from if not the Capitol?"

"You don't give up, do you? My name's Lucan Domani. Or it was. Before. Back home in Two."

"Home?"

"You don't think all the Peacekeepers are Capitolian, do you?" he asks, speaking with a level of disbelief that suddenly makes me feel very sheltered and naïve. "Seriously? Do I look Capitolian?"

I shake my head, looking him up and down. I've seen a lot of Capitolians on the television over the years and I've seen a lot of District Two tributes in the Games. He looks far more like one of the latter than the former.

"I'm telling you the truth. About all of it."

"That's what most people say when they're telling me lies."

"Didn't practically handing you the armoury convince you?"

"It takes a lot to get me to trust," I reply. "And there are a lot of other reasons why you could have done that which don't benefit me much. Maybe you can start by telling me why you're on our side not theirs."

"When I was young, they put a sword in my hand and told me I could conquer the world. Then I lost my last battle and I realised I couldn't. That was the year of the Fifty-seventh Games."

"They trained you to be a tribute?"

"Yes. And when I failed to get to the Capitol, it was the Peacekeepers or the quarries. I had no family I would even recognise, no girl, nobody to go home to. I chose the white. Ten years later they stationed me in the Capitol and I was there when they brought the body of the woman my little sister became back from the arena."

"I-"

"I barely recognised her," he continues, not letting me speak. "I couldn't have cared for her when I left the Training Centre so I left her where she was. I'd probably seen her twice in ten years. But Meg was still my blood. I saw them laughing when she died and it hurt. It hurt and it made me angry. Achillea knew everything, I don't know how. And she convinced me to work for her, just little things to start with, passing messages and such. But the more I saw and the more I knew, the less I liked it. When Heavensbee contacted me, it didn't take much thought to make me decide to go back to the rebellion."

"Achillea?"

"Achillea Redsparrow. The Capitolian woman who started the rebellion. They found out and killed her. Or that's what the rumours say."

"A Capitolian woman started the rebellion? That's ridiculous."

"That's what I said, but Heavensbee said it was so."

"And Heavensbee arranged for you to be stationed here so you could help us? Why?"

"You said it yourself. You didn't see the end of the Quell just like everyone else didn't see it. The rebels aren't hiding anymore. This is it. This is where it all begins for real. You're not the only district in the middle of an uprising."

"Flax! Flax, you have to come with me right now!"

I abruptly turn in the direction of the very familiar voice and see Zib come crashing into the room, gasping for breath like she's run all the way here from the factory. She stops mid-stride when she sees Lucan, but she quickly looks back at me.

"What is it, Zib?"

"Come upstairs. We need you in the main communication room. You have to hear this."

"Hear what?"

"Cali was messing about with one of the transmitters. She picked up this signal and…and you have to hear it."

"I can't just leave," I reply, nodding in Lucan's direction. "I need to hear what he has to say."

"I'm going to say this now because it might be the last time I have chance to before you're so high above me in the ranks that you'll kick my backside for looking at you the wrong way. Flax Paylor, get yourself upstairs right now!"

I stare at her for a second, and once she starts laughing, I laugh as well and I can't stop. It suddenly hits me that the plan worked. It's not over, but right now it's us in charge of this district, not the Capitol. This is freedom and it feels good.

"Paylor?" says Lucan, his voice breaking the silence that follows our laughter. "You lied to me."

"No, Lucan, I just omitted to tell you the truth. There's a difference."

"Flax! Come on!" urges Zib, reaching out to grab my arm so she can try to drag me to where she wants us to go like she did when we were children.

"Fine, I'm coming," I reply, sighing and reaching to my belt to draw my knife. I cut the rope binding Lucan's hands and he looks up at me in shock. "If you betray me then I'll kill you. I promise you that."

"I won't betray you, Commander Paylor," he replies earnestly.

"Not you as well," I groan, pushing Zib towards the door. "How many times do I have to say it?"

"You don't command anyone," choruses Zib in response. "Yes, you've said. But you do know you're the only one who still actually believes that, don't you?"

"And I'll hold on to that belief for a bit longer if it's all the same to you," I retort as we race up the stairs back towards the room I'd been looking to escape from before. "Now tell me what all this is about!"

She crashes into the door, flinging it open with such force that it slams into the wall and nearly hits me when it bounces back. I skid to a halt amidst all the television screens and panels full of flashing buttons. It doesn't look any different. Other than the vast increase in the number of people crammed into the tiny room, I don't understand what's changed.

"Cali, what's going on?"

"I was…messing about with one of the transmitters," she says, getting up and pushing me down onto her chair. I only realise how exhausted I am when I sit down. "Trying to see if I could pick up some of the Capitol transmissions so we could find out what they were doing and what's going on everywhere else."

"And did you?"

"No. They're all encrypted. I know nothing about this stuff really. We need Gabby. Panem knows how, but she knows a little bit. Zibeline, where's your Ma?"

"I sent her and Adie away," she replies. "She's in one of the warehouses across town. Away from all the fighting."

"We need her here."

Zib nods and turns to leave. I can tell she's been wanting to retrieve her family since the Peacekeepers left, but that doesn't stop me from touching her arm so she doesn't go.

"There was a point to this, Cali," I say quickly, before Zib can protest. "What is it?"

"I couldn't break the Capitol encryption, but I did pick up another signal. And it doesn't come from the Capitol."

She reaches across the desk and I stop her when I get a close up of her hand and see just how badly burnt she is. She brushes me away impatiently and reaches out again, twisting a button on one of the panels until a red light starts to flash.

"Does that mean we're about to blow up?" I ask, pointing at it and trying to tease her because she looks so serious.

She scowls at me but doesn't get chance to reply because suddenly another voice fills the room.

"Can you hear me? Come in, District Eight. District Eight, can you hear me?"

The voice is a man's. He doesn't sound Capitolian.

"I can hear you," stammers Cali, her eyes wide as she perches on the arm of my chair. "Who are you?"

For a couple of seconds we just hear static, but then another voice replaces the man's.

"My name is Alma Coin, and I am the President of District Thirteen. I wish to speak to whoever's in charge."

My eyes meet first Cam's and then Zib's, and moments later a deafening cheer rises up in response to the woman's words. I look suspiciously at the microphone, speaker or whatever it's called that Cali had spoken into. The red light's still flashing.

"Come on," I whisper. "How are we supposed to believe this isn't the Capitol's way of tricking us?"

"District Eight, this is District Thirteen," sounds the voice again, the man's this time, not the woman's.

"Speak to her, Flax," says Cam, kneeling on the floor on the other side of my chair to Cali. "Go on."

"I can't. If she's for real then she's the President of Thirteen. _I _can't speak to her."

"Yes, you can," he replies. "Go on."

I take a deep breath and lean forwards. "District Thirteen? This is District Eight."

"A District Eight no longer under the control of the Capitol?"

"Yes," I reply, unable to stop myself from smiling.

It could be the static, but I swear I hear her laugh. "To whom am I speaking?"

"My name is Flax Paylor. Of District Eight," I add, before I realise that she obviously already knows that.

"And you were the one who orchestrated this little uprising?"

Everyone in the room cheers again.

"Not exactly," I tell her. "But I think I can speak for everyone here."

"Then I will be in contact with you very soon, Commander Paylor."

"I'm not their commander."

"You are now," she says, and I can hear the finality in her tone even though she abruptly seems to be getting further and further away.

"Don't go," I say, leaning forwards even more. "Wait! Please!"

But then the static starts again. She's gone.

"Do you seriously think that was Thirteen?" I ask as soon as the buzz of noise in the room dies down a little.

"We'll soon see," replies Cam standing up and looking closely at the control panel, almost like he's waiting for it to tell him the truth.

"She wasn't Capitol," says Lucan quietly, and he looks directly at me when he notices virtually everyone else in the room staring at him. "That wasn't a Capitol radio frequency."

"Doesn't mean they didn't hear every word," snaps Zib, stepping towards him confrontationally.

"There are people in the city who monitor the radio waves, but there's so much going on that they probably won't have heard that," he replies, stepping towards Zib and laughing to himself when she doesn't back down. "If most of the districts aren't already rebelling then they will be soon."

"Which ones first?" I ask, narrowing my eyes slightly.

"Three and Four," he answers immediately, and I nod in return. "Still don't trust me, Commander Paylor?"

"I reckon _I'd _trust you a bit better if you weren't in that uniform," says Cali, shaking her head at his Peacekeeper whites. "Flax, who is he? Why is he standing with us in here?"

"He let us into the armoury," I tell her. "He says he's on our side and at the moment I'm believing him."

She doesn't look entirely convinced but she doesn't push it and neither does anyone else. We sit in what would be silence if it wasn't for the static coming from the radio for a few minutes, before I eventually realise we can't stay here forever.

"We should start gathering and rationing the food properly," I say. "And there always needs to be someone monitoring that," I add, looking down at the microphone Alma Coin's voice came out of. "And the television as well. We need to know what the Capitol's saying about what happened in the arena."

"How do you know something did happen?"

"You have eyes, you saw. Something happened, now we just need to know what."

"But-"

"No," I snap, suddenly feeling tired and confused about everything that's happened today. "Now isn't the time for talking. We won't last long if we don't do what I said and start looking at what we've got left here."

"The Capitol people always had loads of everything," replies the woman who'd questioned me sulkily.

"They did," I say evenly. "And now if we go out and get it then it's ours."

I look around the room and see the expressions of a lot of the people looking back at me seem more positive than they did before I said that. If we're going to move then it has to be now, before their hunger and exhaustion catches up with them.

* * *

><p>The first hoverplanes come at dawn. I'd posted a watch in the main square and on all the roads leading into the main city, but they were looking for an attack from the ground. We were totally unprepared and the bombs began to fall before the alarm had even been raised. It's only now they've gone and I have time to I look around at the devastation that surrounds me, at the people scattered around, dead and alive, lying in rubble and pools of their own blood and that of their families, that I can see how naïve and foolish we were.<p>

"Flax? Flax, can you hear me?"

Zib has to tug my sleeve to get my attention properly, and it's only when I turn to look at her that I come back from my nightmare to reality, which don't seem to be that different from each other now. She looks battered, bruised and exhausted, her hair's plastered to her head from being out in the rain, and she has a cut above her eye that's streaming with blood, but she's still her. She's still alive, and that's enough for me.

"We got it wrong, Zib," I whisper, scanning the square again. "We should have thought about this."

"We can't go back," she says. "It's too late to change what happened, but they're all waiting for you upstairs."

"Waiting for me to do what? Clear the rubble and heal people's wounds with my bare hands? Zap the Capitol planes from the sky with laser beams from my eyes? I'm not superwoman, Zib. I don't always know what to do."

"Nobody expects you to be superwoman," she says, rolling her eyes at me like she always used to when we were children and she thought I was being stupid. "You're being melodramatic now. They just want to see you, to hear what you've got to say. You do know what to do, I know you do. And they know it as well."

I stare at her for several minutes and she stares right back at me, knowing me well enough to know I'm thinking about what she said.

"Melodramatic is a big word for you, isn't it?" I tease, and she immediately threads her arm around mine, sensing her victory.

"Cali said she was going to take a group out to find the Capitolians' stash of medical supplies. Then she wants to start treating those who can be treated."

"Fine," I reply as we run up the Communication Centre stairs and into the main room. "But-"

A flash of movement distracts me as soon as I look inside, and I watch as Adie throws herself at Zib like they've been apart for months rather than minutes. When I turn to the control panel I see their mother sitting in front of it, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

"It's no good," Gabardine says, dragging her fingers through her hair in frustration. "I only know what Zibby's father taught me and that was over thirty years ago. It's all changed since then."

"Thanks, Ma," says my friend as she walks across the room to look over her mother's shoulder at what she's doing. "Feel free to announce how old I am to the whole room."

Gabardine shakes her head but smiles slightly at her daughter anyway. "You're just like him," she says. "No respect for anyone."

Zib smiles back, both because I'm sure she hears the affection behind her mother's reprimand and because from what she's told me, she knows enough about her father to know her parents loved each other. All I really know is that he died in an accident in one of the factories, leaving fifteen-year-old Gabardine alone with their baby, who grew up to be my closest friend. Zib showed me the only photograph she's seen of him once. Her mother kept it under her pillow for over thirty years. I bet she doesn't have it now. I bet the Capitol destroyed that as well as most of our district this morning.

"Do _I _remind you of _my _father?" asks Adie as she pushes past me to look at her mother.

Both Zib and I freeze when we see the haunted, terrible expression that ghosts across Gabardine's face for a split second before her smile reappears.

"No, you're perfect, Little One," she says, brushing some dust off the girl's coat. "I've told you that before. You remind me of my father, but never yours."

Zib and I exchange glances but Adie just looks confused. Seconds later, Gabardine slams her hands on the table, pushing the keyboard away with an angry noise that's half a sigh and half a growl.

"This is stupid. We can't use this equipment because Stone had everyone who wasn't Capitol that knew how either executed or disappeared after we failed six months ago, we have no weapons and we can't even figure out how to switch on the radar system that will tell us when they're going to come back to blow the rest of us up."

"Don't talk like that," I snap, somehow sensing that we'll fail a lot quicker if people start to feel defeated. "Most of these buildings are old, really old. They have basement levels, we'll shelter there. If they want this district back then they'll have to come on land, and we've defeated them once, we'll do it again. Nobody's talking, Gabby," I continue, speaking in a much softer voice. "Not even the Capitol. I refuse to believe we're the only ones fighting back. And they can't be everywhere at once."

As soon as I stop talking, everyone else starts, and the room is suddenly full of noise. I breathe an inward sigh of relief when I hear many of them suggesting ways to move people to where they're most likely to be safe and let my eyes drift to the control panel where I saw that flashing red light last night. This morning there's nothing. I don't know whether to be relieved or not. I don't know if I want to hear from the woman called Alma Coin again or if I don't.

"You said you don't have any weapons," calls a voice, sounding loud and clear over everyone else's whispered conversations. "But that's not exactly true."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my eyes finding Lucan's instantly. "We can't exactly shoot at hoverplanes with hand held guns, can we?"

"Will you come with me? There's something I want to show you. But just you."

I start to move towards him, more because I want to question him further than because I've decided to trust him enough to follow him Panem only knows where, but Zib steps in front of me to block my way.

"She's not going anywhere with you on her own," she snarls, rounding on Lucan instantly. I don't know whether to smile at my friend's protectiveness or be annoyed that she's acting like I can't take care of myself. "How do we know you're not going to try to kill her as soon as you get a chance?"

"Because I'd have done it already," he replies flatly. "As soon as I knew who she was to you all. But you can come along and be her bodyguard if you want," he adds with a smirk, looking down at her in a way that would have earned most men a slap by now.

"Are we going or are the two of you going to get a room somewhere a long way away from here?" interrupts Cam, lifting his gun back onto his shoulder as he moves to stand by my side. "We'll all go or we don't go at all, Peacekeeper."

"I'm not a Peacekeeper," snaps Lucan, striding forwards until his face is mere inches from Cam's in a way that makes me wonder how I could ever have thought him Capitolian when I've seen the expression on his face so many times before in the Hunger Games arena. "Not now. And the only people I'm going to kill will have uniforms a lot whiter than mine and they're not here yet."

He steps back and pulls his tattered jacket off before throwing it to the ground and immediately sending his white Peacekeeper's shirt down to join it.

"I'm not one of them," he says, looking straight at me. "And if you want a chance of stopping the bombers then you have to come with me."

"Is that vest Peacekeeper standard issue as well?" asks Zib, returning his earlier smirk and pushing him as she pointedly walks over his shirt and jacket.

"Make your mind up before the sexual tension suffocates us all," says Cam, whispering in my ear so the others can't hear.

"I don't even think Zib knows if she wants to kill him or kiss him," I reply, abruptly having to wipe the smile off my face when my friend turns to glare at me despite how confusing she's being.

"What did you say?" she asks accusingly.

"Nothing," I reply, suddenly conscious that everyone in the room is now looking at us and that I should be being a little more serious. "We should go."

"This way," says Lucan, nodding towards the door and walking forwards before looking back at Zib and raising his hands. "Look, you're armed and I'm not, Killer. If I break my word then you can shoot me."

She purses her lips and jerks her head fiercely in the direction of the door, but nobody knows her like I do. Despite all that's happened to her and her family in the past, she's not quite looking at him like she looks at virtually every other man who looks at her. She doesn't want him to betray us and she doesn't want to shoot him. My first thought is that the middle of a war zone isn't a good time to be thinking like that, but then Cam reaches around me to hold the door open. I smile slightly but then have to turn away. Grandpa always used to tell me that nobody likes a hypocrite.

* * *

><p>It's taken us about an hour to struggle through the wreckage left behind after the bombing. No matter how hard I try to block them out, I see every single dead body I pass. They're that covered with dirt and dust that at first glance it's impossible to tell the difference between the rebels and the Peacekeepers. I have to remind myself of what we're fighting for when I look at them all. It's the only way I can make myself keep walking.<p>

"What is this place?" I ask when we finally stop to look up at a warehouse on the outskirts of the main town. It looks very much like all of the others that surround it, so I don't understand what's so special about this one. "Why are we here?"

Lucan doesn't reply as he edges towards what turns out to be a concealed door. He reaches towards it and I jump at the sudden sound from behind me, spinning around to see Zib has taken her gun from her shoulder and is pointing it at our new ally.

"There are access codes to this," he says, pretending to ignore Zib even though I can see him watching her out of the corner of his eye. "If I say run then you run, do you understand? If they've changed them remotely and I can't disable the system then…well, we might have to run."

"I understand," I reply, and he immediately starts typing what looks like a series of numbers and letters into the panel he's just uncovered.

In the end it only takes him a few minutes, but he breathes a noticeable sigh of relief when the door swings inwards. He walks into the darkness without me having to tell him to go first, and when we get to the end of the corridor, he reaches up and flicks a switch. Light fills the massive space ahead of us, and what I see leaves me speechless for several seconds.

"What is all this?"

"The Capitol keeps a weapon store in every district. It always has."

"In case we district folk decide to rebel?" asks Cam dryly.

"Something like that," he replies. "In case _anyone _decides to rebel. After the end of the Dark Days it was considered…unwise to keep the entire supply of anything in one place. If there's an uprising in one of the districts then the Peacekeepers will have close access to the weapons they'll need to subdue the rebels, and it means not everything's in the Capitol."

"Why would that matter?"

"Because the rebellion began in the Capitol," I reply. "I'm right, aren't I?" I continue, looking at Lucan to confirm what he told me yesterday.

He nods. "Not everyone in the big city supports Snow's government. It's always been that way," he answers, and I notice again that he still talks about the Capitol like a person from the districts even after ten years in the Peacekeepers.

"Can these shoot down the hoverplanes?" I ask, resting my hand on the tripod that seems to be supporting what looks like a massive machine gun.

"Yes. If you can shoot straight."

"We'll learn," I say, scanning the room and wishing I knew more about this sort of thing. "Have we got enough of these to surround the city?"

"You'll need people to man them."

"Getting the chance to have a shot at the Capitol? I somehow don't think it'll be that hard to find volunteers," I reply, watching as Zib positions herself behind a gun that probably weighs at least ten times what she does. "Cam, go back and get some of the others. If we're lucky we can get all these where we want them before the planes come back."

"Do you know how to set up the radar system?" I ask several hours later, trying to look up at Lucan but failing because I'm sandwiched between him and Cam in the tiny space behind the barrier in one of the many machine-gun nests that now surround the city.

"I don't," he replies. "That's technical stuff. I was just a soldier. I bet Thirteen would."

"But Thirteen aren't here, are they? We've heard nothing. We're on our own, just like I said we would be."

"I don't know how to use it, Flax," he says, and I look up at him despite space restrictions then because that's the first time he hasn't called me 'Commander Paylor'. The expression I see so briefly pass across his sharp features makes me think he's even more shocked by that than I am. "I wish I did, but I don't."

"Then we'll just have to take it in turns to keep watch, won't we? A group at a time."

"You want to divide them into regiments? Like the Peacekeepers?" asks Cam.

"We're at war," I reply. "We have to start thinking like soldiers."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks to those of you who reviewed last week :) Like anyone who posts on here, your reviews keep me posting...<strong>_


	6. Chapter 6

**_Not much of an Author's Note this week, but I just wanted to say my usual thank you to those of you who reviewed last week :) I haven't had that many reviews for a chapter since I finished 'Freedom', and they were just what I needed to get me past the section of the story I'd been stuck on for ages!_**

**_I hope you let me know you're out there reading this one as well..._**

Chapter Six

The bombers come again in the morning, appearing in the dawn light in waves of destruction that shake the whole city, right down to the ground beneath our feet. By the time we knew they were there, it was almost too late. The pilots only drop their sight shields when they're about to fire or release their bombs. I know that much because Grandpa told me it was the same during the first rebellion as well. I just wish he'd told me how to fix the radar system or hack the Capitolian communication network so we'd have some warning as well. Putting people on guard isn't enough.

"Is that it?" calls Zib from the machine gun nest next to mine, shouting through the smoke and dust that fills the air.

"What do you think?" I yell back when another group of hoverplanes appears in the sky before I have chance to think. "Get back undercover!" I scream, spotting a group of people trying to move from one building to another.

I fire the weapon in front of me as well as I can, and Cam does the same with the one beside it, but we're not trained soldiers. The bombs fall and the ground shakes, and still the planes fly on unharmed. It's like they're laughing at us, attacking not just to hurt us but to show that they can and that there's nothing we can do about it. The vivid Capitol seals painted onto their sides shine golden in the light of the rising sun, and angry though I am, all I can do is hope that this wave will be the last.

But then the tail of the last plane bursts into flames and the whole thing crashes towards the floor. I hear a hoarse cheer from the shelter next to me that's echoed in every cluster of weapons beyond it, and when Zib pulls her mask off to get a better view of it as it lands, I can see the triumphant expression on her face even from this distance. I look behind her to Lucan, expecting it to have been him who made the shot, but he shakes his head and nods at my friend.

"That's it," I say, pushing myself to my feet and dragging Cam with me. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>The main square is in chaos. There are people everywhere, both racing around trying to salvage things from the rubble and simply standing around in shocked silence. All I can think is that this is exactly what President Snow would want. If we carry on like this then he won't have to take Panem back from the rebels because we'll hand it to him ourselves through our own stupidity and lack of organisation. I wish I could decide where to start.<p>

I make my way through the crowd, and many of the people I pass by stop to stare at me. I expect them to look at me with contempt, to hate me because they see me as a symbol of the rebellion that seems to have brought them nothing but death and destruction, but they don't. Many of them try to smile, others simply look at me like they're waiting for me to tell them what to do next. I just wish someone would tell me.

"People of District Eight!" I shout, positioning myself in front of the microphone on the stage only to realise it's been blown up in the bombings and doesn't work. However those closest to me stop to listen anyway, and gradually the square falls silent. "They've gone, but they'll be back. I need every man and woman who is able to report to the old Peacekeeper Headquarters. Unless you have medical knowledge," I add when Cali moves onto the steps below me. "If you do then wait here. Anyone else should find shelter and stay there."

The buzz of many different conversations at once begins again as soon as I stop speaking, and I'm relieved to see most people going in the direction I sent them, with a few remaining behind by the stage.

"Take them with you and set up a hospital in one of the warehouses," I say to Cali. "I don't know what else to do because we can't keep them all here."

"There aren't as many as I thought there'd be," she replies, giving me what feels like the first bit of positive news I've had since Zib let the Capitolian flag fall from the front of the Justice Building to the ground. "Most of them are walking wounded really. Or dead. We're going to have to bury them soon or we'll get sick and it'll be all over."

"I'll get some people on it," I say, sighing as I gaze at the destruction that surrounds me. "But we need to make the shelters better. We have to do that first. Before the Capitol comes back."

"You should get some rest," she tells me firmly. "I bet the last time you slept was before you said Mockingjay."

"I don't have time to sleep, Cali."

"Talk to her, Cam," she says, looking over my shoulder at the same time as I sense his presence behind me. "She might listen to you."

"Not a chance," he replies, and I feel him pulling the collar of my shirt back to look at the reopened wound on my shoulder. He sighs deeply and continues to talk to Cali like I'm not here. "Maybe you should take her to the hospital with you and give her something that'll knock her out."

"Like I've got that kind of medication," she says immediately. "I gave the last of what we had left to Luce last night."

I'm about to ask her how my friend's doing and if she's as badly wounded as I feared, but I don't get chance.

"Commander Paylor!"

"For Panem's sake, Baize," I call, recognising his voice without having to turn away from Cali to look in the direction it's coming from, "you knew my right name well enough before all this happened!"

"Flax, look," says Cali, her hand drifting to the gun strapped to her belt that looks so out of place on someone everybody goes to for healing.

I spin on my heel immediately when I hear the panic in her voice, and I see Baize walking towards us, leading both his patrol group and some other people I don't recognise. There are about ten of them, men and women of varying ages, all dressed in the same grey uniforms. I pull my gun from my belt before I even think about it, before I notice that their weapons are currently in the hands of my rebels. It makes me wonder when that became my instinctive response.

"What's going on?" I snap, surprised by the authority I hear in my voice as I look up at Baize. "Who are these people?"

"I am Commander Boggs of District Thirteen-" replies the middle-aged man who leads the group of strangers, speaking before Baize can, his grey eyes looking me up and down appraisingly.

"Thirteen? Why should I believe you?" I ask, but even as I speak I realise he's telling the truth. They're not Capitol, I can tell that instantly, and there are no other districts that could produce the uniforms they're wearing or could possibly have access to and conceal the guns Baize and the others have confiscated.

"And I thought Five was bad," Boggs mutters under his breath, seemingly speaking to himself as he scans the rapidly increasing group of people behind me.

"We're worse," says Zib, abruptly pushing past everyone else to stand by my side. "Much worse."

"How did you get here?" I ask the man who called himself Commander Boggs. "What do you want?"

"President Coin sent us to help you. Although you seem to be doing a fair job on your own. Your perimeter control's good. For an amateur," replies Boggs, looking at Baize like he's itching for a rematch.

"You're not the first person to call me an amateur this week," I say, glancing briefly at Lucan, who's moved silently to Zib's side. "But I can't see any Peacekeepers around, so I don't think I'm doing too badly."

Boggs' eyes flick to Lucan as well, no doubt noting how he doesn't look like one of us even though he's now dressed the same. However I loudly clear my throat and he returns his attention to me.

"We have medical supplies," he says. "but not much. And weapons, but not many. You have more than most already. Most of the other districts aren't as…organised as you."

"The other districts don't have Flax…I mean Commander Paylor," says Zib, her tone a mixture of pride for me and aggression against Boggs and his soldiers.

As usual my instinct is to say this isn't all my doing, but she elbows me in the ribs as if she knows what I'm thinking. I take the hint and remain silent.

"You're a bit late, aren't you? The bombs were falling this morning," she continues contemptuously.

"And you are?" asks Boggs with an edge to his voice I didn't hear before.

He looks at me in a way that tells me he thinks I should be exerting some control over my subordinates. I stare fixedly back, unsure how to begin telling him that this subordinate has been my friend since before we were old enough to speak and that I'm not really a proper commander at all.

"Zibeline Pershing," she replies, meeting his eyes defiantly with one hand firmly on her hip. "And you still haven't properly told us who you all are. As this is our district, I really think you should."

"Your district?"

"Absolutely," she replies flatly. "The Capitol tried to take it back this morning and failed. If you want to try as well then be my guest."

"That's not what they're here for, Zib. Is it?" I ask Boggs, narrowing my eyes sharply as I turn to look at him.

"President Coin sent us. To gather information about how things stand here and to…offer what assistance we can."

"You can see how things stand here already," replies Zib, full of a rage I should have expected but didn't. "We took over this place and the Capitol's not happy so they're trying to blow us up and take it back."

"Is the Mockingjay alive?" I ask, saying the only thing I can think of that will cut all other arguments and questions off instantly.

"Yes," he replies, and suddenly the main square's buzzing again. "But I can't tell you any more than that now."

My first instinct is to ask him why, but I stop myself just before I speak. I have to watch what I say to these people and I have to appear in control. Asking him endless questions like a little child won't help my image in his eyes, and I'm pretty sure he'll be reporting back to his leader before nightfall.

"We can't work the radar system," I say instead, jerking my head in the direction of the Communication Centre. Maybe he'll get more talkative if he has something else to occupy his mind. "Can any of you fix it?"

"Perhaps. If it's like the one we have back in Thirteen."

"What's happening in the other districts?" I ask as we walk across the square. "Is the Capitol bombing them as well?"

"Some," replies Boggs cagily.

"But not others?" prompts Cam, his voice so harsh that I barely recognise it.

"But not others," echoes the commander from Thirteen, still revealing nothing. "You know, this is an interesting setup you have here, Commander Paylor," he continues, turning his stern gaze on me. "There seem to be a lot of people asking questions."

"I don't know what it's like in Thirteen," I reply, suddenly siding with Zib and despising this man who's come here too late to stop the destruction of most of my district and now has the nerve to look on in disapproval. "I'm sure you do things very differently when you're safe behind your walls, but here I listen to people. And we're all as free as each other. If I'm their commander then it's because they want me to be."

He says nothing, staring back at me with cold grey eyes, and I force myself to meet his gaze steadily. If there's one thing I believe in then it's that, something Grandpa always used to call democracy, and I'd never tell Cam he didn't have as much right to question our unexpected visitors as I do.

"I think we all want the same thing here," says Cam, pointedly breaking our silence. "We have enough enemies in the Capitol without arguing amongst ourselves."

"Very well," replies Boggs as we reach the foot of the stairs in the Communication Centre. "Where's the Control Room?"

"This way," I say curtly, leading him upwards.

All I can think is that he still didn't give Cam a proper answer to his question.

* * *

><p>Several hours and many barked orders given by Boggs to his grey-uniformed minions later, he announces that the radar system is working. He pushes a few more buttons on the panel in front of him, speaking to Gabby in a much softer voice than the one he was using earlier, and then straightens up, brushing invisible dust from his jacket.<p>

"We don't have much to go around, but we'll send you what we can spare when we can," he says, looking at me this time. "Now we have to go. We've stayed too long already."

"Scared the Capitolians might come back?" interjects Zib scornfully, earning her a stern 'Zibeline' from her mother in return, who seems to have taken quite a liking to Commander Boggs.

"You'll know when they're coming back now," Boggs replies, nodding at the control panel he's informed me will trigger a warning siren when the bombers are approaching. "Thanks to us," he adds pointedly.

Zib ducks her head, conceding the point to him, but she looks up again when Lucan steps to the side, nudging her into the desk and smirking wickedly down at her. For once my friend's bravado seems to desert her, and she looks like she doesn't know what to do with herself. I'm not surprised. From way before what happened with her mother before Adie was born to what she told me about her half-sister's illness and then the events that led up to my whipping, Zib hasn't been given any reason to trust men outside our circle of friends. I exchange a glance with Cam at the sight of them, expecting him to be thinking what I'm thinking. However he just mirrors Lucan's movement and sidesteps into me.

"Stop it," I growl under my breath, trying not to laugh. "I'm supposed to be in charge here. I'm supposed to have everything under control."

"You can be in control if you want to be, Flaxie," he replies shamelessly, reminding me of the boy he was fifteen years ago.

I glare at him before turning to Boggs, relieved to see him still investigating the control panel and not paying us any attention at all. "Is your hovercraft coming back for you?"

He nods and gestures to all of his soldiers with a sweep of his arm. They leave the room instantly, and us rebels all stare at each other in stunned silence. I wonder how it feels to be like a mechanical part of the giant machine that is District Thirteen, for surely that's what the place must be like if they're all the same as the people I've seen today. Part of me would rather go back to my previous life than consider living like they seem to.

I walk the commander from the building back into the main square, and he stops when we get there, making me think that's where the hovercraft will land. I don't know much about flying machines, but I still don't envy the pilot who has to land in the middle of this mass of ruins.

"Are the other districts rebelling?" I ask, feeling increasingly frustrated and deciding to have one last attempt to make him talk to me. "Are we going to join together to fight the Capitol?"

"Why? Do you want to join us, Commander Paylor?" he replies, somehow managing to make me think he doubts my position of authority as much as I do simply by calling me by that title.

"If you're fighting the Capitol then yes, I do," I tell him fiercely, suddenly subconsciously pushing my self-doubt to the side and feeling nothing but determined that one day I'll prove him wrong. "We're just normal people but we're strong. We have as many reasons as anyone to want to bring the government down."

"And you don't want to go back to the life you lived before?"

"Back to the life we lived before?" I reply incredulously. "If we lose then there will be no life we lived before. If we lose then I reckon we'll all wish we'd died."

Boggs looks across at me then, and I see a respect in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Young, inexperienced, totally unaware of the power you have, but maybe you're not as inadequate as I thought you were, Commander Paylor," he says. "Perhaps I misjudged you."

"Perhaps you did," I retort, narrowing my eyes sharply at his scathing assessment. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Yes," he replies. "In answer to your question. Panem's in chaos. Make no mistake, we're at war."

Then he spins on his heel and walks away. The hovercraft drops its sight shield as if he commands that as well, and seconds later he's gone.

* * *

><p>I spend the next half an hour trying to restore order when everyone can't seem to decide if they're terrified of the people from Thirteen or overjoyed at the mere thought of their existence. It's only when I notice how many of them are reluctant to leave the square despite the threat of another bombing raid that I follow the direction of their gazes and see that not all of the soldiers have left.<p>

There are three of them, two men who are standing together and talking in hushed tones, and a woman who waits a short distance from them. Neither of them are looking at her, and I get the impression that the short distance might as well be half the district. It's what makes me take a deep breath and walk closer.

"Why are you still here?" I ask, stepping towards the woman. From a distance she looked older, but close up, I can see she's probably younger than I am. "Why didn't you leave with Boggs and the others?"

"There's another hovercraft coming in," she replies, looking straight ahead of herself rather than at me in that way I've noticed the Thirteens have when they're addressing Boggs. "We're waiting for that. A couple of medics volunteered to fly here and then stay to help treat your wounded."

"Then why… Oh, because you had to come here first so you could see if we're trustworthy allies?"

The woman nods, still standing to attention and not meeting my eyes. "They'll be here in seven minutes," she says, looking down at the watch on her arm. Even that's as grey as the rest of her uniform.

"Seven minutes?" I reply lightly, speaking before I really think. "Not six? Or eight?"

"Seven," she repeats, a slightly confused expression on her face.

"Sorry," I say, trying to decide if the Thirteens are born without a sense of humour or if it's drilled out of them as children. "I didn't mean to tease you. What's your name?"

"Soldier Edwards, Commander," she replies, promptly and clearly. "Eliza," she adds, sensing the question behind my raised eyebrows.

"And have you always been in the army, Eliza?" I ask, trying to get her to tell me more about the mysterious ways of District Thirteen because I suspect I'll have more luck with her than I would with the likes of Boggs and the woman who calls herself President Coin. I wouldn't waste my time waiting for Coin anyway. From what I've _not _seen, she's as illusive as the Mockingjay.

"Everyone in Thirteen is granted the title of 'Soldier' when they turn fourteen," she replies, the look of confusion deepening, as if she doesn't understand how it is that I don't know that. "It's a way of life for us. It's just the way it is."

"I'm sure it beats the textile factory," I say, more to myself than to her. I don't think she even hears. "Why are you here now? Why are you fighting our battles?"

"I'm not sure how much I can tell you," she says.

"Speak, Solider Edwards. You call me Commander so do as I ask."

I almost pass out in shock when I see something that looks like fear pass across her features in response. It makes me wonder when I became so fearsome, but it makes me even more curious to know what her home district is like as well. We were forced to be slaves to the Capitolian overseers, but they never had our minds. This woman obeys orders like it was something she learnt to do before she could even walk and talk.

"I don't know a lot. I'm just a soldier. But President Coin has been in talks with rebels in the Capitol. You know the former Head Gamemaker?"

"Plutarch Heavensbee," I reply, and I stand silently as she then proceeds to confirm everything that Lucan told me about where the revolution really started.

"I don't think I'm supposed to know even that," she finishes eventually. "But my father's a commander. I overhear him talking about what he hears in Command sometimes."

"And did you hear that Heavensbee got Katniss Everdeen out of the arena?"

"Yes, but nobody's seen her. At least nobody I know. But my friend said her mother swore she saw a Capitol woman walking towards Command," she says, leaning conspiratorially towards me until the sound of someone dropping a box behind us makes her jump to attention once more.

"Are the other districts rebelling as well?" I ask, internally sighing with disappointment when I see her soldier's mask has fallen securely back into place.

She nods. "Most of them," she says. "Even One's turned. But not Two. And there's nothing left of Twelve."

"What do you mean?"

"The Capitol bombed it out. Hundreds more planes than you've seen here. There's nothing left."

"Because of Katniss?" I ask, unsure why I'm still shocked by the brutality of the Capitol.

She shrugs. "Must be. Some people survived though. They're back home now. In Thirteen."

"They were evacuated to Thirteen?"

"Yes. There was nowhere else for them to go. And we've got plenty of space."

"Why's that?" I ask. I'd always been taught to believe that District Thirteen mined graphite and that it was only a relatively small place. It seems that's yet another thing the Capitol deceived us about. "You have hovercrafts and technology. I thought you were strong."

"You don't know the real truth about what happened during the Dark Days," she says, actually looking at me with her pale grey eyes now she's getting into her stride with what she's saying again and is finally forgetting the title I'm given by virtually everyone I meet. I barely know her but I suspect she's a real gossip back home. "You don't know the real truth about District Thirteen."

"Explain."

"We didn't mine graphite. Or we did, but that was just a front. We were responsible for nuclear development, so when the Capitol tried to take control, we fought back. They had nuclear weapons and so did we, so we reached stalemate. In the end our leaders negotiated a deal with theirs. We let them tell the rest of Panem that they've wiped us out and they leave us alone. We've been cut off from everyone else ever since."

"For all these years you stood by and did nothing?" I ask, trying and failing to keep the contempt from my voice.

"We had to rebuild. It took years and years, especially because we had to be self-sufficient. And then there was the…epidemic."

"The what?"

"It's the reason why we have room for the refugees. A disease swept through our compound and killed hundreds. It's gone now, but many of us who survived can't reproduce because of it. Every new person we take in strengthens us and increases our chances of carrying on."

I stare back at her, unable to stop myself from imagining Zib's reaction to that if she'd been here. But then I realise that I have to be practical. District Eight is no place for the defenceless when the Capitol bombers could come back at any time. I have to think about what's safe for them, and despite everything I've heard, I'm beginning to think the safest place could be in Thirteen. Unless I can think of another way.

"I see. And now you're going to take the fight to the Capitol? Or are we just going to stay here like sitting targets?"

"I don't have that kind of information, Commander Paylor," she replies, suddenly formal again.

I understand why when a hovercraft appears as if from nowhere a short distance away from where we stand. The other District Thirteen soldiers who had remained behind run towards it and a door in its side swings open.

"Commander Paylor?" calls Boggs, beckoning to me. "Where do you want the supplies?"

* * *

><p>They brought us food and more ammunition for the guns, which Boggs inspected with a critical eye as soon as he saw the first nest we passed.<p>

"They're Capitol," he'd said, staring at me like he was waiting for me to explain. I'd nodded back and said nothing. If he can be evasive then so can I.

He made many more similar comments, his sharp eyes spotting everything from the passages we've cleared that lead to the underground shelters to the storerooms we've reserved for the food and the fresh water we've had to put into massive tanks it takes ten people to move. It's just as well we did. The Capitol spoiled the water supply less than a day after I suggested it.

No matter how many hints the man from Thirteen drops and how many things he says in the hope they'll prompt me into lowering my guard, I say nothing. By the time we're standing outside the Communication Centre an hour later, I can't decide if I'm pleased with myself for revealing nothing or furious with him because he's behaving in exactly the same way.

"As I said, Commander," he says, once more giving me that appraising look he gave me before. "We'll send you what we can, and you'll hear more when it's time."

"And who's deciding when it's time? Shouldn't that be something we all decide?"

"Eventually," he replies, spinning on his heel and striding towards the hovercraft.

I see him jerk his head a fraction to late for me to stop the remaining District Thirteen soldiers from breaking out of formation to surround Lucan and push him towards the craft.

"No!" shouts Zib, racing forwards, her momentum allowing her to push the District Thirteen woman who was standing in front of her out of the way despite her weight disadvantage. "What do you think you're doing? He's on our side!"

"He won't mind coming with us to answer a few questions then, will he?" answers Boggs, stepping in front of her and gripping her wrist just before she can reach for her gun.

"Take your hand off her right now," I snarl, reaching for my own gun.

"Commander Paylor, a Peacekeeper is likely to have information about the Capitol that we don't."

"And we're supposed to be allies. If you want us to share information with you then you have to return the favour."

"There's no need for the drama," says Lucan, pulling violently away from the grey uniformed soldiers and moving to stand between Boggs and Zib, glaring at the commander like he's seriously considering trying to rip him in half. He only looks away when the man from Thirteen backs away from my friend. "If you want information then you only have to ask."

"This is war," replies Boggs. "And I don't trust you."

"How very…sensible of you," growls Lucan in return, somehow making his words sound as derogatory as a much harsher insult. "Is this where you try to frighten me into cooperating by tying me up and threatening to torture me? Because that's been happening a lot lately so it's kind of losing its effect. And no offence, but if you don't mind granting me one last wish then I think you should bring Miss Pershing with us and put her in charge of interrogation. I'm sure she'd be good at it and I'd sooner look at her than at you."

"Get in the hovercraft, Soldier Domani," replies Boggs, his eyes hardening in response to the innuendo in Lucan's voice as much as Zib's seem to become uncertain.

"Who are you to give me orders?"

"I'm your Commander."

"Flax Paylor is my Commander."

"Lucan, go with them," I say with a sigh, sensing both that they won't leave without him and that this is a fight we can't win. "Answer their questions and have them bring you back."

He nods to me and turns his back on Boggs, heading towards the craft without another word. When he gets there he looks back at Zib for a second before disappearing from sight. She looks away, still uncharacteristically unsure of herself.

"I mean it, Boggs," I tell him in a low voice. "I trust him. And I want him back."

"I'll send him back wrapped in brown paper with a bow around him for you if he's telling the truth," replies the District Thirteen soldier before he also disappears into the hovercraft.

"He'd better," snarls Zib, her hand resting on the gun at her belt.

"I didn't know you cared," I say, unable to resist teasing her despite the situation.

"I don't," she snaps, walking a couple of steps away before changing her mind and returning to my side.

* * *

><p>A couple of weeks pass by before I see Soldier Eliza Edwards again. District Thirteen hovercrafts arrive every few days, dropping off small quantities of food, weaponry and medical supplies, but they never stay long and they never stop to talk. I ask them about the Mockingjay anyway, because I've heard cold and starving people here whispering the same things I'm trying not to think. She's dead, they say. She's not going to fight. I ask for the truth but I never get it. They don't even bother to tell me lies. They simply say nothing. And everyone knows that Nothing is worse.<p>

When Eliza finally returns, I recognise her instantly by the strands of wispy brown hair that are escaping from her tightly tied bun. The slightly chaotic, dishevelled appearance she has is what sets her apart from the rest. It was what made me approach her in the first place. Despite how I'm sure she's a thousand times better presented than any of us, those few wisps of hair make her look more human than the others.

"Eliza! Soldier Edwards!" I shout, before dropping my voice as I get closer to her. "When you go back to District Thirteen, I want you to tell President Coin that I want to speak to her. No, actually, tell her I _need _to speak to her."

"I… I can't."

"Then tell your commander and get him or her to tell her. Please."

She nods and promptly returns to unpacking the hovercraft. They finish their task and then leave as quickly as they arrived, making me sigh with a mixture of anger and disappointment. Even after everything that's happened and everything they've seen here, they won't talk to me. I've had no new information since that day I saw Boggs. Not even the televisions are showing us anything.

If the Capitol aren't broadcasting reruns of the Hunger Games then they're showing the images of a destroyed District Thirteen that I've grown up seeing. Watching them now makes me wonder what to believe. I've got the Capitol telling me Thirteen doesn't exist and the regular appearances by grey-uniformed soldiers telling me it does. Either way, there's been no word of Katniss Everdeen, nothing to make us think we're any closer to moving the battle forwards.

When I look at the chaos and devastation that surrounds me, it's hard not to see defeat.

* * *

><p>Three days of endless bombing raids pass by before Soldier Edwards returns. She hovers a short distance away as Cam physically holds me still so Cali can change the bandage that covers the wound running down the side of my neck onto my shoulder that's still stubbornly refusing to heal. It's been three weeks since I first did it, but I reopened it a couple of days ago when the building I was sheltering in had a bomb dropped on it. Neither my neck and shoulder nor the building have been the same since. I feel like I haven't slept for days. It's probably because I haven't.<p>

"I have to speak to her, Cam." I say, trying to pull away from him and Cali so I can hear what Soldier Edwards has to say.

"I've been trying to get you to get that bandage changed for days, Flax. She can come over here," he replies, digging his fingertips into my upper arms and turning to scowl at the young woman from Thirteen. "We don't bite, you know," he calls. "And you won't catch anything if you come over here."

"President Coin said to tell you to be in your Communication Centre at eight o' clock tonight," she says, looking relieved when Cali finally finishes bandaging my neck and backs away.

"Fine," I reply, brushing Cam's hands away only to catch his wrist and grip him every bit as tightly as he did me, making sure he doesn't go anywhere. "Tell her I'll be there. And ask her where Lucan Domani is while you're at it. Unless you can answer that question for me…"

She shakes her heard and in the end I take pity on her. I wave my hand in dismissal and she bows her head before running back to the hovercraft. It was obviously waiting for her because it vanishes as soon as she pulls the door shut.

"You're not going to start thinking you can dismiss us with a wave of your hand, are you, _Commander Paylor_?" asks Cam teasingly once everyone else in the square has got over the shock of seeing the District Thirteen soldiers and returned to whatever they were doing before they arrived.

"I might try it," I reply, reaching up to fiddle with the uncomfortably tight bandage at my neck.

He laughs, but a split second later his expression becomes deadly serious. "What do you want to speak to Coin about? Do you think you can get her to give us some answers?"

"Take them to Warehouse Two!" I shout, directing the people moving the new medical supplies. I don't call it the hospital in case the Capitolians are somehow listening, because I'm sure they would know as well as I do that it'd be an easy target. "We need to check the food," I add to Cam in a much quieter voice.

After we took control of the district, I made the decision to gather all our food together in certain guarded points around the city and ration it out. Otherwise we'd have our own little black market going on and the people with money who lived up by the station would be living like they always did while the rest of the people starved.

"You didn't answer my question, Flax," is the only response I get as we weave our way through the crowds of people and the rubble to the nearest storage place.

When the guards I vaguely remember as being part of Baize's group recognise me, they stand to attention in a way that makes me think I'm not the only one who's been closely observing the Thirteens. I still don't know whether to be shocked or flattered by it. It feels strange to have people I've grown up with and worked with for most of my life treating me like I'm more than just another one of them. Although I'm starting to accept it, most of the time I'm not sure I like it.

"There she is," sounds a voice from further inside the building. "I'll sort this out. It's about time someone did."

A man strides out towards me, taller than average and better fed than most. He might have the District Eight dark hair and eyes, but he has the look of the rich side of town. A group of people follow behind him, and I have to stop myself from reaching for my gun. Cam steps forward to stand by my side, and I see Baize, who'd been doing his shift guarding the storeroom with the rest of his men, lean out of the broken window and signal to the others.

"Sort what out?" I ask the man, squaring my shoulders and straightening my back.

"This food rationing's ridiculous," he says, his voice very slightly accented in a way that sounds to me like he's been watching far more Capitol broadcasts than he has to. "You can't expect us to live on what we get."

I turn slightly to the side until my eyes meet Cam's, and I can see him struggling not to laugh. But even though I feel the same, if I'm going to be a leader then I have to deal with this seriously before it progresses any further. It's difficult enough fighting the Capitol, without fighting amongst ourselves as well.

"Everyone gets the same," I reply evenly. "It might have escaped your notice, but we're at war."

"Not a war we all chose," he answers, lowering his voice in a way I'm sure he hopes is menacing. Maybe it would be if I'd lived a life like his, but because I haven't, I think I'd find an angry Taffy scarier. "You don't rule over me, Flax Paylor," he continues. "You're just a jumped up factory girl."

"That's what you think, is it?" I say, vaguely aware of our ever-growing audience. He nods fiercely and many of those around him echo his gesture. "Well maybe I am. But I'm not ashamed of what I was, and I'm not ashamed of what we've done. You might have been content to live your comfortable little Capitol-endorsed life up by the station, I'm sure it was really nice for you. But reality was very different for virtually everyone else in this district. And forgive me for saying so, but I really don't care if you and yours have to tighten your belts a little. It'll do you good."

"I've a mind to just take what's owed to me. What would you say to that, Paylor?"

"_I'd _say that we'll kill you first," snarls Cam, reaching for his gun.

"No, Cam," I say, my voice a whisper that I can tell our opponent has to strain to hear. "I'm sure that won't be necessary. You want to take what you want?" I continue, turning to the man opposite me and then gesturing towards the entrance of the storeroom as I feel the anger I usually reserve only for the Capitol rising up inside me. "Be my guest. But unless I'm very much mistaken, the soldiers of your beloved benefactors haven't been all that selective with the bombing. Last time I checked, your houses were as flattened as our tenements. If you want your own way then fine, but don't expect my rebels to let you and your families into our shelters when the hoverplanes come back."

"Idle threats," says the man, but I can see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"Try me," I snap. "Nobody here but you and yours thinks there's time for playing games."

After a long, hard look at me, he backs down and leaves the room with his group of followers trailing along behind him. He tries to keep his head high, but he looks like a whipped dog slinking off with its tail between its legs and I know he won't bother me again. There's a moment's silent before the buzz of conversation returns to the room. People stare back at me with anticipation, and I have to fight the urge to keep my expression hard. What I really want to do is shake my head and ask them how they can possibly be scared of me.

"Baize, he's forgotten his rations," I say, my eyes settling on the nearest person I trust implicitly who isn't Cam. "Take them to him and make sure his doubts have been…dispelled."

He returns my smirk in a way that tells me he understood what I really meant when I said that, and then gathers the group of rebels who seem to have decided he's their immediate superior around him instantly.

"Paylor's Boys will see it done, Boss," he says, giving me that curt District Thirteen salute before leading them quickly out into the square.

"Remind me to never seriously get on your bad side, Flax," whispers Cam. "I thought Station Boy was going to drop down dead on the spot."

"Paylor's Boys?" I ask, turning to look suspiciously up at him.

"Baize, Darry and their squad," he answers, smiling at me like he thinks I should know that already. "One of them came up with this song when we were fighting that first night. The name kind of stuck, although I very much doubt they'd repeat the song in front of you."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "Song?"

"You don't want to know," he says, smirking back.

"Probably not."

"Last I heard, it involved you, the Peacekeepers, and Head Peacekeeper Stone's whip."

"Then I definitely don't want to know," I concede, trying to maintain my dignity by refusing to let myself roll my eyes at him like a teenager.

"They worship you, Flax. They think you can do anything," he says, suddenly serious again.

"Even when they wake up every morning and look at this?" I ask, gazing around at the carnage that has surrounded us since the bombing started.

"We're not the only ones who grew up on tales of the Dark Days," he replies. "Nobody expected the Capitol to roll over without a fight. But they've been bombing us for three weeks and you said it yourself, we've seen no ground troops. This war's bigger than us and most of them know it. But without you, we'd still be working in the factories. We'd still be slaves. At least now, we are free."

"They won their freedom, Cam," I say, turning around to stand in front of him so he has to stop. "It wasn't just me. That's what I can't get my head around. I'm just another rebel."

"Not to them," he says firmly. "Not to me. Now are you going to tell me what you're planning that needs to involve Coin or not?"

"Evacuation," I say finally, only speaking when he's dragged me into one of the many bomb-damaged buildings and we're totally alone. "To somewhere away from the main city, away from the worst of the bombing. I need Coin because she has the hovercrafts. They won't last half an hour if the Capitolians see them trailing out of here. They need to be flown out."

"Who do?"

"Anyone unwilling or unable to fight. We can't shelter the children in the basement of the Justice Building forever, and the hospital might as well have a target painted on it for the hoverplanes."

"Do you think she'll agree to help?"

"We'll soon find out," I reply grimly.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

As it turns out, President Coin didn't agree. I cleared everyone out of the Control Room a few minutes before the appointed hour and the red light on the panel began flashing just like it did before, but in the end I found myself explaining my plan to a sub-commander. Then I had to wait an hour for Coin to finally speak to me herself and even then we were only talking for a matter of seconds. I instantly knew she wasn't interested and the line turned to static again before I really registered what was happening. It's her way or no way. And now I have to tell the others.

When I get to the room further down the corridor that the Capitolians had obviously used as some kind of lounge, they're all waiting for me: Zib, Cam, Cali and every other man or woman who has either been made or made themselves the leader of a group of rebels. Since the day we took over the district, I've expected them to ask each other why they all report to me. They never do.

"What's all this about, Commander Paylor?" asks a woman about ten years older than me called Adaira. Before all this happened, I would barely have recognised her if I walked past her in the street, but now she's one of the most outspoken of those I suppose Thirteen would call my sub-commanders.

I bite back my instinctive first remark, which is to tell her to call me Flax or at least to drop the 'Commander', and sit down on one of the chairs. Zib pushes herself off the wall she'd been leaning against and crosses the room to perch on one of its heavily padded arms. She's got another bandage on, one she wasn't wearing this morning. It's on her thigh, tied almost like a tourniquet, and the blood seeping through it looks black in the dim light.

"I was speaking to President Coin," I reply, addressing the room as a whole even though I can't tear my eyes away from the sight of Zib's blood on that white bandage. "I asked her to help me move anyone who wished to leave out of the centre of the district. She said no."

"Why?" asks Cali, leaning towards me. It's only when she moves that I see Gabby sitting next to her.

"Either because she doesn't have the resources or because she isn't really on our side at all," answers Zib's mother, getting up to pace around the room. "They hardly have a reputation for selflessness, do they?"

"She offered me an alternative. She said she'd fly some of us back to Thirteen as refugees."

"Some of us?" says Cam suspiciously, perhaps because he recognises the tone of voice I used when I said 'some'.

"She won't take the wounded or the infirm. She says she doesn't have the space or the supplies to care for them, not from every district."

"They took in everyone from what was District Twelve though," he counters, and when I look around I can see the doubt on everyone's faces.

"There weren't many of them. And they do have some space there. Eliza explained."

"Who's Eliza?"

"That soldier I was speaking to. She's a bit more…human than the rest of them."

And then I tell them most of what she told me, up to and including the disease epidemic that killed so many.

"So they want those who can be useful to them?" says Zib, as perceptive and to the point as ever. "They want more people they can turn into grey-uniformed robots? Or they want to _breed _more grey-uniformed robots? You said it yourself that a lot of them are infertile."

"That's going a bit far, Zib," I reply, but even as I do, I can't help wondering if she's got a point.

"Well I'm not going there," she announces. "I'm not a robot and I'm certainly not anyone's broodmare."

"No one's saying you have to go there. No one's saying _anyone _has to go there. I turned her down. I said she takes all of us or none of us."

"I bet that went down well," says Darry, but though his voice is harsh, I can see he doesn't think I did wrong. "So we're going to keep fending for ourselves?"

"For now," I reply, not seeing the point in trying to lie to them by pretending our food and water supply is going to last forever. "But Coin said she can't take in everyone from 'every district'. And that means they're all fighting. Even District One."

"I suppose that's what Eliza said as well?" says Adaira, not sounding at all convinced.

"It makes sense," interrupts Cali before I can answer. "After the Quell-"

"Why does it?" Adaira snaps, her increasing frustration showing more and more in her voice every time she speaks. "They lost a couple of Victors, but so did everyone else. What did any Victor ever do for us anyway? Have you seen any of ours since the uprising started? They could be in the Capitol for all we know. And so much for the Mockingjay. She might as well be dead. If she isn't already."

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't," I say, raising my voice so they can all hear me clearly. "Either way, we keep fighting. Because what's the alternative? Surrender to the Capitol? If I know anything then it's that I'd rather die."

"No one's surrendering, Flax," she says, looking slightly repentant. "But that doesn't mean we can trust Thirteen if they won't tell us anything about themselves or what they're doing."

"Did Coin say anything about Lucan?" asks Zib after a couple of minutes silence. "Boggs said he'd send him back."

"I thought you said you weren't anyone's broodmare, Pershing," calls a voice from the back. "But perhaps you just think a good District Eight boy isn't enough for you."

I rest my hand on Zib's arm, holding her down on the chair before she can react. "I didn't ask, Zib. It's been over four weeks now. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn't on our side and they found out."

"No," she says, calm once again as she looks down at me. "I'd know. I've seen enough of men to know a bastard when I see one so I'd know. He's on our side. And he might be able to tell us something about Thirteen if he comes back. _That's _what I meant."

"Then we'd best keep fighting then. Or Coin will be sending him back to a wasteland."

* * *

><p>Once the meeting finally finished, I made the mistake of leaving the Communication Centre through the main doors. They were crowding around as soon as they saw me, normal people rather than rebel fighters, asking questions and asking for information or help. I even think some of them just wanted to see me, because there were those who didn't speak at all.<p>

By the time I'm watching the last one hobble away, it's starting to get dark. I look up at the sky, wishing it could tell me if the Capitolians are on their way back, but it gives me no answers. However I stand still for a minute, watching the stars. Before the war, I hardly ever saw the stars. I can't make up my mind if that's just because I never thought to look or if it's because the factories haven't been in use for over a month and the air's starting to clear. I don't suppose I'll ever know, but I like to think it's the latter.

I hurry off down one of the side streets, intending to check on the rebels manning the guns on the other side of town, but then I notice the ruins of a building ahead of me. Most of it has been destroyed in the bombing, but a couple of the walls are still standing, and when I investigate further, I find a sheltered space in the middle of the collapsed stone which suddenly looks more appealing than any bed ever has.

I'll hear the sirens if the bombers return, I tell myself as I spread one of my two coats on the ground and sit down. I'll hear people shouting and running for cover in plenty of time to get up to the guns. It'll only be for a short time anyway, and then I'll move again.

* * *

><p>"So she does sleep. Flax Paylor is human after all."<p>

I roll over, reach for my gun and open my eyes in one movement, startled by the voice and ready to attack in a second. I find it hard to believe that less than a month ago I would have been at home with Grandpa, forcing myself to get up and face yet another day at the factory. Now look at me. Now look at how everything's changed.

"Relax, Commander Paylor, it's only me," says the voice, which I easily recognise as Cam's now I'm a bit more awake.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, flopping back down onto my coat and pulling the other one over me because I'm suddenly freezing cold. "What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," he replies, handing me a flask of water and a couple of crackers. "I was looking for somewhere away from everything while it's quiet. I came here and then I found you."

"And you what?" I ask amusedly. "Sat here and watched me sleep just so you could tell the others that I still need to?"

"Something like that."

I sit up and shuffle backwards, leaning against the wall and raising the flask to my lips. I drink and then hand it to him, moving over so he can sit on the coat as well. He drinks and then puts the flask down on the floor between us, looking at his handful of crackers before handing me another one.

"What's it like out there?" I say eventually, asking the question even though I wish we could stay here in peace for a little longer. "How's Cali?"

"About to lose it," he replies. "She isn't a trained medic and she wouldn't have the supplies to treat all the wounded even if she was. People are dying every hour and there's nothing she or anyone else at the hospital can do about it. Every time the hoverplanes come back it gets more and more overcrowded up there."

"I asked Coin again like I said I would," I tell him. "I didn't tell anyone else because I knew she wouldn't do it. She still says she'll take the healthy ones who can't or won't fight back to Thirteen, but that she doesn't have enough room to treat her own wounded and sick so she can't take ours and every other district's as well."

"Maybe you should say yes."

"That'll go down well, won't it? 'District Eight, I know most of you have at least one wounded or sick relative after the recent bombings, but I'm commanding you to leave them here to die while you go Panem knows where in these hovercrafts with the nice grey-uniformed soldiers and their automatic rifles.'? What would you say to that if you were one of them? Would you go to Thirteen without knowing what you'd find there?"

"You don't trust Coin?"

"Do you?"

"No."

"Well then. We've been fighting for nearly a month now and nothing's changed, at least not for the better. The only people who could tell us anything are the Thirteens, and we've heard virtually nothing. Katniss bloody Everdeen started this war, whether she meant to or not. But where is she? Dead? Hiding in Thirteen? Nobody knows. But either way, she's not doing much to help the cause, is she? We're on our own and it's only going to get harder."

"You're doing your best, Flax," he says, putting a comforting arm across my shoulders and pulling me closer. His shirt smells of gunpowder, smoke and blood, but I feel better all the same. "And we're still fighting. We're still holding on."

"What if my best isn't good enough? Coin knows what I am, what I was before all this, and she doesn't respect me. She doesn't tell me anything. And if I don't know the whole truth then how can I know what we should do?"

"They'll send a hovercraft soon enough," he replies grimly. "With supplies and more ammunition for the guns. We should demand proper answers then."

"By holding them hostage and beating them up?"

"If we have to."

"You can't go around hitting the people you're supposed to be in an alliance with, Cam."

"Who says? They're holding out on us and you know it. If they're planning something then maybe we can help. If the Mockingjay's alive and they're still planning to take the Capitol then I want to be there when they do."

"And if they're not?"

"Then we still need to know."

"Will you come with me to the Communication Centre in the morning then?" I ask, my voice small as I force myself to admit my fear in a way I've refused to do ever since the beginning of the uprising.

"I'll do whatever you want, Flax," he replies immediately. "You know that."

"Do I?"

"You should by now."

I pull back so I can look at him, suddenly fighting the ridiculous feeling that he isn't talking about speaking to President Coin anymore. But then I settle down again, mentally telling myself to stop being so stupid. I have a job to do and so does he. We both want and need the rebellion to be successful. If it isn't then we're both dead. That's what this is all about.

"We'll speak to her in the morning then. I want someone I trust to go to Thirteen to see where I'd be sending people to, and I want to know what happened at the end of the Quell. Because we can't carry on like this forever."

"In the morning," he echoes, folding his coat and putting it across his lap. "But now you need to sleep."

I open my mouth to protest, to say that I should get up and check on the people manning the guns, but he shakes his head and pulls me back down again. I rest my head on his lap, intending to pretend to comply only until he's distracted, but he pulls my coat over me and tiredness hits me so hard that I can't fight it.

I know no more until I open my eyes to see the dawn light streaming through the gap in the wall where the windows used to be.

* * *

><p>I try to stay where I am because I can tell by the regular rhythm of his breathing that Cam's asleep, but in the end I can't keep still. Everyone knows how much a whipping hurts, but they don't know how much it itches when the wounds have scabbed over and started to really heal, and this reminds me of that. Now that I've had chance to rest, the cuts on my back that I got during one of the many raids are driving me mad even as they're healing, and the worst thing is that I already know I can't reach to scratch because I tried before.<p>

Cam's hand rests lightly at my side, his arm still draped over me like it was when he first told me to sleep, but I just about manage to slide away without waking him. Or so I thought. Almost as soon as I've crossed over to what's left of the door frame so I can lean against it and get some relief from the incessant itching, I look back to find his dark eyes staring up at me, full of amusement.

"Flax, what are you doing?" he asks, getting up and walking slowly towards me.

"Nothing. I need to go back out now. It's almost light and we both know the Capitol will be back."

"Fine," he replies, stopping right next to me. "We'll both go. Right now, shall we?" he continues, but just as he suggests leaving, he reaches behind me and rubs the old wounds on my back over the thin fabric of my shirt.

"I hate you," I reply, looking up at him with eyes half-closed in appreciation.

"So I'll stop then, shall I?" he asks, starting to pull away and then laughing at my wordless noise of protest. "Cali would tell me off and say this really isn't helping."

"And I'd tell her she's lying. It's helping me plenty," I say, leaning into his touch without thinking. Then I turn around and look up at him again, suddenly aware of how close we are in a way I wasn't before. "Cam, I-"

"Flax, please," he says, his hand pushing against my back to hold me still as he interrupts me. I'm grateful because I don't know what I was going to say. "I-"

"Commander Paylor! Commander Paylor! Flax! Where are you?"

"What is it?" I ask, pulling myself together and taking a step back just in time to see Darry race around the corner like he's being chased by President Snow's personal guard. "What's wrong?"

"There's another hovercraft," he gasps breathlessly. "From Thirteen."

As soon as he finishes speaking, he turns and races off again, knowing I'll follow him. Every hovercraft that arrives, every communication we have with our mysterious allies, is an opportunity to learn something about what's happening in the rest of Panem. We've had so little news that I know doubt is starting to spread. The Capitolian broadcasts have been relentless and the bombing has only got worse. People are beginning to question how much longer we can hold out for, and I'm finding it hard to reassure them when I'm thinking the same thing. Maybe this time will be different. Maybe this time they'll tell me something.

* * *

><p>Two grey-uniformed Thirteens jump down from the craft before it's landed on the ground. They fix the door into place and then stand back straight away. I don't recognise either of them, but I'm not surprised. They all begin to look the same after a while.<p>

However the first thing I notice after that is that the people who emerge next aren't wearing grey. They're wearing the white clothes of District Thirteen's medics, and after the last of the ones they sent before died in the bombing yesterday afternoon, I'm initially both happy to see them and surprised they came. But then I change my mind. What use are they hiding out in Thirteen away from all the action? They should be where they can be of most use and benefit. They should be here.

"Darry, take our guests to Warehouse Two," I command, waving my hand sharply in the general direction of what's left of the road that leads out of the centre of town. "Follow him!" I continue, shouting out to the two anxious looking medics.

"Yes, Commander Paylor," replies Darry, saluting sharply before beckoning to our new arrivals. They promptly scurry after him, glancing at me nervously.

"Command suits you," calls another voice from the hovercraft, one belonging to a person who certainly doesn't speak with the harsh monotone of Thirteen. "But for the love of Panem, you look a mess."

I spin around in time to see another man climb down the steep steps that line the back of the craft door. He's wearing the uniform of a District Thirteen soldier, but with a faded brown jacket over the top. I recognise it a split second before I recognise him, because I remember being there when Zib gave it to him. Lucan. He's come back. After a whole month, our allies have finally sent him back.

"Is that any way to speak to your commander, Soldier Domani?" I shout back, waiting until he's moved away from the hovercraft, the door has been closed and it's vanished from sight before cautiously approaching him.

"I am a soldier of the rebellion, and Mockingjays don't lie," he replies, looking down at me with that wicked smirk that hasn't changed a bit. "You look bloody awful."

"Mockingjays?" I retort disbelievingly, trying to remember the last time I saw my reflection. "That's a joke. She could be dead for all we know. We've heard nothing since the end of the Quarter Quell."

"She's not dead," he says. "She's been recovering from everything that happened in the Quell. But now she's ready to fight. She said so in front of the entire population of Thirteen."

"Oh yeah, when?" I ask, only checking myself when I notice my disbelief and frustration has made Flax return and left Commander Paylor nowhere to be seen.

I stop a short distance from him, just far enough away so I don't have to look up too much to meet his eyes.

"The day before yesterday," he replies. "She says she wants to fight."

"How wonderful for her," I snap, yanking the strap of my gun into a different position when my forward movement makes it dig painfully into my wounded shoulder. "How nice of her to consider joining us. I must go and tell the others. The war's as good as over now our saviour has decided she wants to fight."

"Give her a chance. She's done a lot for Panem."

"And what's she been doing while we've been fighting and dying? Waiting for the right moment to announce her continued existence? Well it's taken her long enough."

"She's been through a lot. Didn't you see the boy's interview? Snow captured him after the Quell."

"I saw it," I reply, thinking of a few days ago when we all watched Peeta Mellark calling for a ceasefire from his soft, comfortable seat on Caesar Flickerman's sofa. "And they'll get their ceasefire over my dead body," I continue, shocked by the vehemence in my voice. "If anyone thinks the Capitol will pardon them if they lower their weapons after this then they're insane."

He raises his hands as if in surrender and backs towards the steps of the Justice Building. "Nobody's quitting, Flax," he says. "Everdeen's done a deal with Thirteen. She'll fight for the cause with the condition that Mellark's pardoned if we win. And Johanna Mason, Enobaria Moreno and the mad Victor girl from Four…Annie Cresta."

"So she's making conditions now, is she? First we hear nothing for weeks on end while we spend our days trying to avoid getting ourselves blown to pieces, and now she's saying she'll only play if she gets what she wants. I thought she had something. When I saw her here on the Victory Tour, I mean. There was something about the look in her eyes. Now I'm beginning to think she's a spoilt little girl who just wants her own way."

"I wouldn't know. I've never met her," he replies, making me feel slightly guilty when I think of how I haven't met her either. "But everything that happened with her first Games and the Quell still means something. If people see her fighting then it'll make them stronger. And from what I heard in Thirteen, I'm not so sure we're winning."

"What do you mean?" I snap, suddenly forgetting all about Katniss Everdeen. "We've held this district for over a month. It's tough but we're not losing."

"You're doing well, Flax-"

"Don't patronise me," I growl, narrowing my eyes at him. "You're starting to sound like one of the Thirteens."

"Let me finish. I meant in comparison to a lot of the others. The Capitol's really fighting for Eleven, and they seem to have an unusual attachment to Five, but not even Coin knows why that is. Or if she does then she's not saying."

"Eleven's because of the food supply. I don't know about Five though. But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if we stay divided like this. If Thirteen's acting alone then it won't work. And Coin's got her own agenda."

"You've never met her either," retorts Lucan, raising his eyebrows sceptically. "How do you know?"

"How _don't _you know? You've been there for nearly a month. Haven't you heard anything about what they're planning?"

"They don't exactly invite me to Command," he replies defensively.

"Why not? Didn't you want to find out when they're going to move on the Capitol?"

"I'm not so sure they know themselves."

"They know. Coin knows," I reply, feeling a little bit guilty for taking my frustration out on him. "But I bet the people actually out there fighting will be the last to find out."

"She might not be like that once the war really starts."

"The war's already started, Lucan. Please don't tell me you hadn't noticed. And I told you, Coin's got her own plans."

"How do you know that?"

"I just know. I've spoken to her. I asked for an evacuation of the people here who aren't fighting. She said no. And then she offered to fly them to Thirteen instead, but only the healthy ones. To me that sounds a bit too much like the Capitolians when they only gave the cure they had for a deadly virus to those who were useful to them. I'm not about to give up everything for another dictator."

"Cure for a virus?" he asks curiously, sitting down on one of the few remaining undamaged steps.

"It's a long story," I reply, shaking my head. "A lot of people died. My grandmother died."

"I'm sorry," he says. He actually sounds like he means it.

"It was a long time ago. But I meant what I said. We're risking our lives for freedom. Proper freedom. And if Thirteen don't want us to have that then I'll fight them as well."

"And I'm sure they'll be terrified," he replies, leaving me uncertain whether he's being sarcastic or sincere because I don't know him well enough to read his voice.

"I mean it," I say evenly. "We've come too far for me not to take them on if I have to."

"With your bare hands and laser beams from your eyes?" he says with a smirk, and it takes me a while to place those words.

"You've been talking to Zib," I say eventually.

"I try," he replies, shrugging his shoulders ruefully. "When she isn't holding a gun to my head."

"You say that like you expect her to trust you. But she's Zibeline. She only trusts _me _because we've known each other for over thirty years."

"If you repeat a word of this to anyone then I'll kill you," he says, and something about the look in his dark eyes tells me he's joking even though he sounds deadly serious. "But I wish she'd give me a chance. She reminds me of home and yet she doesn't at the same time. I thought I was tormenting her to get a reaction, but I actually missed the death threats when I was in Thirteen."

"She's been through a lot. More than you'd ever hear about from me," I tell him, raising my hands when he starts to interrupt. "The only way you'll find out is if she chooses to tell you. But trust me, you're special. Most of the people she's pulled a gun on are dead. But if you hurt her then I'll kill you, I promise you that."

"That's not a very proper threat for a commander to make."

"I'm not speaking as Commander Paylor, Lucan. I'm speaking as Flax. Zib's my best friend and if you hurt her then I really _will _kill you."

"I think she's more likely to hurt me," he replies, laughing as he stands up again.

I smile but then look beyond him out into the square. It's quiet, as it usually is with the ongoing threat of the hoverplanes, and other than armed rebels with guns in their hands, there are very few people about. That's why I immediately see the small figure racing towards me.

"Taffeta Sheridan, what in Panem are you doing out here?" I shout as soon as she skids to a halt in front of me. It's a struggle not to smile when she salutes me like her father does.

"Gabby sent me," she gasps in reply, too caught up in the excitement of her mission to tell me off for calling her by her full name. "To get you. She told me to bring you to the Communication Centre."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Something about a message. A warning. Hurry up!"

"Where's your mother?"

"Hiding in the basement with the others. I was waiting upstairs for Father to finish his shift."

"You should be downstairs where it's safe," I reply, but I follow her anyway, and I'm not surprised when Lucan falls in behind me.

* * *

><p>"Flax, you're here," says a very panicky Gabardine as soon as I walk into the main control room.<p>

"I told you I'd find her," interrupts Taffy, stamping her foot on the threadbare carpet.

"Don't interrupt, Taffeta," snaps Zib's mother sharply, glaring at me like she used to when I was ten when I squeeze the girl's shoulder in commiseration.

"Someone in Thirteen hacked the Capitol radio system. Just for a few seconds, but it was long enough to hear them talking about a bombing raid. They'll be here within the hour. More planes than ever before. You've got yourself a bit of a reputation, Flax. It seems our resistance is irritating them," she says, pursing her lips into a tight, smug smile.

"Then we'll have to irritate them some more, won't we?" I reply. "Sound the alarm and then get downstairs. Do me a favour and take Taffy with you," I add in a low voice so the young girl can't hear. "Give her a job to do so she feels useful."

Zib's mother nods and rises to her feet just as her eldest daughter races into the room. "I've got everyone up and stationed at the guns," she says. "Did you find… Flax, you're here. Good. Did Ma tell you what Thirteen said?"

"Obviously," I reply. "We need to leave. Now. Gabby, the alarms…"

Seconds later, we all hear the sirens wailing and the sound of people who'd been on the upper floors of the Communication Centre rushing to get to the relative safety of the basement. The room's full of noise but I still hear Zib's wordless exclamation when she notices Lucan standing beside me.

"You're alive."

"Obviously," he replies, smirking back at her.

"I dread to think how you convinced them of your innocence. Making time with your interrogators, probably."

"Jealous?"

"You wish," she growls back, lifting her gun off her shoulder and turning away from him in the same movement. "I'll see you after, Ma," she continues in a much softer voice as she hugs Gabby tightly.

"I should be out there fighting, not you."

"Like you'd know what to do with a gun," Zib replies, her tone as affectionate as her hug. "Tell Adie I love her."

"She already knows."

"Let's go," I say grimly, nodding towards the door.

* * *

><p>It only took a short time to get out of the Communication Centre and head straight towards the nearest guns, but in that time, the first wave of bombers arrived. Suddenly the square was filled with smoke and dust for what felt like the millionth time since the rebellion started, and it was almost impossible for us to see where we were going.<p>

The force of a nearby explosion threw me and a few of the others to the ground, and I could immediately feel blood trickling down my chest from where the old wound at my neck had been reopened. However I was roughly dragged to my feet by someone I didn't have time to really see, and seconds later we all stumbled behind the barricades and angled the machine guns towards the sky.

Hours later, we're still in the same place, firing missiles into the sky and hoping we don't run out before the pilots of the planes do. The information District Thirteen gave us was good, and there were more bombers than in the other raids. I'm beginning to think we won't have a district to live in by the time the war's finished, even if we win in the end. Every raid brings down a few more buildings, and they've even taken to targeting the main square now, knowing that's where everyone's sheltering.

I squint as I look into what I've always thought of as the viewfinder above my gun, using it to track a hoverplane and then moving forwards a little to allow for the time it will take the missile I fire to reach it. I draw the trigger back and then watch as the plane I'd been aiming for begins a spiral to the ground, minus most of its left wing. Before it lands, the whole thing explodes, lighting up the dull District Eight sky like the Capitol on Victory Ceremony day.

"You're catching me up!" shouts Zib from the gun nest next to me.

"A way to go yet!" I shout back, almost smiling at her words.

I fire at my next target, thinking of the tally chart we've got going on the wall in the storeroom where we usually sleep. Every time anyone hits a hoverplane and brings it down, they get another mark on the wall next to their name, and morbid and horrific though it is, it gives us something to focus on other than the thought we could all be blown to pieces at any second.

As Baize once pointed out to me, the competition and the sight of the chart gives people courage, and once he said that, I didn't have the heart to make them stop it. Especially when I'm on there as plain old 'Flax', with no hint of 'Commander Paylor' to be seen. My line of tally marks is just shorter than Adaira's, and is about two-thirds the length of Zib's. Despite her lack of training, she's the best shot we've got. Whenever anyone comments, she just replies that every mark is another dead Capitolian, and the look in her eyes is so fierce that most people leave it there. I know her well enough to know it's because she'll never forgive them for leaving Adie to die, for forcing her to make the choice she did so that Adie could live.

* * *

><p>I wait by my gun for a few minutes after the last planes have vanished, steeling myself for the onslaught of questions to come, but eventually I realise I can't hide forever. When I round the corner and look down the narrow street, I can't see the end of it through all of the people who are gathered there. They all have their backs to me, staring at something I can't see, but when I get closer, those at the back of the crowd see me coming and back away. There's a path cleared in seconds, and that's when I see that what's holding their attention is the smoking ruin of a Capitol hoverplane.<p>

I walk closer, forcing myself to carry myself straight and tall because I can feel many pairs of eyes watching my every move. There are men, women and children gathered there, many even younger than Taffy. They're all covered in dust, and many of them have injuries, covered in makeshift bandages they've probably put on themselves in attempt to avoid having to go to the hospital. I can't say I really blame them when I've been doing everything in my power to avoid the place myself.

They're all staring at me, waiting to see what I do next. What I really want to do is ask them what's so special about this hoverplane. I'm proud to say that it's hardly the first one we've shot down, and I sincerely hope it won't be the last. It looks like any other to me.

But that's only until I see the open cockpit. That's when I realise what's drawing the crowd. The pilot's still alive.

"I bet he wishes he was dead," says Lucan quietly as we approach the plane.

"He will be in a minute," snarls Zib, pushing past everyone but me until she is also at the front of the crowd.

I look to the side and find Cam staring back at me with sad eyes, and I know he understands what I'm going to have to do. I turn to the Capitolian pilot, his white uniform stained with his blood and his eyes wide with pain and terror, and I decide this is going to feel a lot different to shooting planes from the sky or killing people because it's the only way to keep them from killing me.

The mass of people are totally silent, as if they've even stopped breathing as they wait to see what will happen next. The only sounds I can hear are stones and bricks falling from the surrounding bomb-damaged buildings and the rasping breaths of the Peacekeeper as he struggles to speak. I try not to wonder what he'd say if he was able. He's obviously badly injured, as anyone would be if they'd been in a plane crash, but he's still conscious. Maybe with treatment and medicine, he might live. But he's the enemy, even if he is barely older than me, frightened and hurting. We can't have him using our resources when we don't have enough for ourselves, and this is war. I'd lose the respect of the district if I tried to help this man.

"Let me do it," says Cam in a quiet voice, stepping towards me as I reach for the hand gun at my belt.

"No," I reply loudly. "The person who decides a man must die should have the courage to kill them themselves."

I raise the gun and aim it at the pilot, pulling the trigger before I have time to think about it. The gunshot echoes around the narrow street in the silence. The people gathered around don't stop staring.

"Right," I say, lowering my gun and threading it back through my belt as I nod to the group of men and women who had initially approached the plane. "Clear the wreckage. Salvage what you can. The rest of you help take the wounded to the hospital. Now!" I continue, shouting at the top of my voice because a lot of them seem too hypnotised by the dead Capitolian to have heard me the first time.

They soon move after that, and once they've gone or are busy working, I spin on my heel and leave, not pausing to see if any of the others are following me.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, I'm standing in the middle of the main food storage building, listening to a middle-aged man who used to live up by the station telling me what we have left in such minute detail that I'm now considering sending him to Thirteen because I have a feeling he'd be more at home there. I came here because I thought it would distract me from what happened earlier, but the droning of his monotonous voice is doing nothing but allowing my thoughts to wander in the direction of the very subject I'm trying to avoid thinking of.<p>

"So as you can see, Commander Paylor," says the man, whose name I've long since forgotten. "Without extra supplies, we're not going to last longer than a week."

"Just what I wanted to hear," I tell him, resuming my pacing around the cavernous room which is now little more than a quarter full.

I'm not begging Coin for help again, not when she refused to even consider the suggestion I made before. I'm not. But maybe I have no choice. I can't let my pride lead to hundreds of deaths, however difficult I find it to swallow. Even if she does tell me sending them to Thirteen is the only option. How bad can it be when the alternative is staying here and waiting to see if it's starvation or the bombing that gets you first?

"Leave us for a minute," says a familiar voice, and I look up to see Cam standing in the doorway, gesturing behind himself to the storeroom man.

The man looks uncertain, but I nod and he leaves immediately. When I turn to Cam, he doesn't have to speak for me to know what he's thinking, what he's trying to find the words to say.

"I'm fine, Cam," I lie, hoping I sound convincing but at the same time not really expecting to. "Honestly."

"You only say 'honestly' when you're lying," he says, walking further into the room towards me.

I shake my head but laugh because I know it's true. "It just felt different. Killing a man who didn't have a gun in his hand."

"He was in a hoverplane, Flax. He had a bit more than a gun and he'd have come back with more bombs if we hadn't shot him down."

"I know that. I killed him, didn't I?"

"You're losing your bandage," he says, changing the subject as he reaches across to the bandage on my neck. "And it's such a mess that it's probably doing more harm than good. I should take you to Cali."

"No, I don't need the hospital. I don't!" I reply, my voice loud and my words quick out of sheer panic at the thought of going there.

He continues to peel the bandage back with a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes occasionally flicking to mine. "And here was me thinking the great Commander Paylor fears nothing."

"Cali won't thank me for trying to take over her domain," I say, trying to get him to change the subject yet again.

"Cali would want to see you, Flax, and you know it. No, you fear going to the hospital and you have done ever since it was set up. And I know you're not scared of the sight of blood. So why?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me," he says, gently touching the skin around my cut. I only jump back when his fingers brush my throat, because I suddenly feel vulnerable enough without that. "Cali said to check it's not too hot. Heat means infection, and we'll surrender within the week without you."

"Don't be stupid," I reply, but I stay where I am instead of moving away all the same.

"You're still avoiding my question," he says after a while.

"You really want to know? I won't go to the hospital because I'm scared. Not of the blood and the pain and suffering, but of the way I know they'll look at me. I started this. If it wasn't for my stupid plan then none of them would be there. I'm scared they blame me, and I'm not strong enough to deal with that."

He doesn't say anything but drags me to the side of the room instead, sinking down the wall until he's sitting leaning against it before pulling me down beside him. It's only then, when his jacket falls open, that I see the circle of blood on his shirt.

"What happened?" I ask, reaching for him the same way he reached for me.

"I fell and landed on broken glass," he replies. "I pulled it out. I was at what's left of the Town Hall and now there's even less left. Another wall collapsed."

"Were-"

"Gabby got everyone out."

"Good," I say, undoing a couple of his shirt buttons with one hand and trying to reach into my pocket to find a clean piece of cloth to cover the wound with the other.

He watches me intently as I peel the fabric of his shirt back and press the cloth against his chest. "They blame the Capitol, not you," he whispers eventually, covering my hand with his own. "I've been there. I've seen them. When they're not asking after the Mockingjay, they're talking about the resistance. The pride they feel at how we're still fighting back is the only thing keeping a lot of them going."

"But a lot of them aren't carrying on going, are they? And that man would have bored me to death if he hadn't been telling me that the food's running out," I say, waving my free hand in the direction the storeroom man disappeared. "I'm going to have to speak to Coin again, aren't I? I'm going to have to tell her I accept her terms. I bet a lot of them will even thank me for it even if I haven't a clue what I'm sending them to."

"Speak to her and give people the choice," he replies. "I bet you'll be surprised how many of them choose to stay exactly where they are."

"We'll soon see," I tell him as I pull my hand away and begin to push myself back up.

"Where are you going?" he asks, getting up and looking down at me, his eyes full of concern.

"I'm going to swallow my pride and wave the white flag at Coin. But I'm going to the hospital first. It's about time I saw it with my own eyes."

"Do you still want me to come with you?"

"Yes," I reply, telling him the truth for once as I begin to walk towards the door. "But I'm going to send you to the rest of the food stores instead. Look at what we've got and I'll meet you in the main square this evening."

"Flax?"

"What is it?" I ask, stopping in the doorway and looking back at him.

"I… Just be careful."

"Of course," I reply, but I can't help wondering what he'd been going to say before he stopped himself.

Then I step out of the storeroom and make my way towards the hospital and I soon forget such trivial things. I can hear people shouting and they're saying that one of the underground shelters collapsed in the bombing.

We can't go on like this. I'm going to have to accept Coin's offer. And eventually I know I'm going to have to go to Thirteen myself. They are the main opposition to the Capitol in this war. All we'll get from staying here alone is death.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Nothing to say other than my usual thank you to those of you who've reviewed this story. A lot of people put it on alert last week as well, so I guess I should thank you as well. Feel free to say hi ;) <strong>_

**_Also, they're nothing to do with me, but apparently 'The Pearl Awards' are being done again - go and nominate your favourite stories/artwork. I know I will..._**


	8. Chapter 8

**_I think you'll recognise a lot of the events in this chapter..._**

**_And I just want to say that Dimity belongs to Obiwanlivesforever (go and read her Wiress story - it's really good). I just made her my Cali's sister! Obiwan, this one is for you..._**

Chapter Eight

I've seen a lot of sights since the war started. I've seen blood and pain and death and a thousand other things no person should ever have to witness, but I've never seen anything like the makeshift hospital I've been calling Warehouse Two and trying not to think about.

Cali told me about conditions here, about how bad it is, but I've been commanding the rebels manning the guns, I've been monitoring our food and water supply, I've been fighting and shooting down Capitol planes. But I've never visited the hospital. If I'm totally honest with myself then I've thought of every excuse I could to avoid it. And now I'm here, I don't know what to do.

I knew this morning's bombing was worse. It seemed to go on forever and I thought it would never stop. There's barely a building in the district that wasn't constructed before the Dark Days that's left standing, and when I look around me now, I find it hard to believe there's a single person left alive and uninjured.

The wind blows up the dust from the dried mud pathway, but when I look beyond it, I can see pools of water coloured red with blood. A child races towards me, red-faced and crying. I pick her up and hand her to the first person I see who isn't obviously hurt before trying to make my way to the main door. I don't have time for sentimentality, not now.

The first thing I notice as I get closer is the wobbly looking 'H' that's been painted above the door. I initially heard about it when the paint was still wet. I remember Cali coming to tell me and then sending her back to get someone to clean it off. But that was minutes before the next bombing raid, and everyone forgot about it afterwards. I only hope it can't be seen from the sky.

Most of the people who are aware enough to notice me back away to let me past, and it doesn't take long for me to reach the hospital entrance. I take a single step inside and the first thing that hits me is the smell. Too many people crowded into a small, airless space, illness, decay and death. My first instinct is to turn and run, but I force myself to move forward again. Like it or not, these people look to me to lead them and set an example, and if what Cam said is to be believed, they don't even blame me for what's happened to them. I can't let them down by walking away just because I can.

I push my way through a heavy curtain, focussing straight ahead so I don't look at the bodies of the dead. It's not because I'm frightened or disgusted by them, it's because I fear seeing someone I know. Logic tells me that I'd know if anyone close to me had been killed, but the warm, putrid air that fills this place isn't exactly helping me to think clearly. I keep my breaths shallow, keep walking and don't look back.

"Commander Paylor?" calls a man from where he sits on what can just about be called a bed.

I look around now I've got through the curtain separating the living from the dead and am faced with a sea of people. They're everywhere, and like I did during the bombing, I wonder how there can possibly be a soul left in District Eight who remains uninjured.

"Commander Paylor?" repeats the man, and he tries to smile when I turn to look at him, stepping as close as I dare when the contraption he's sitting on looks like it may collapse if I even breathe on it. "Did we get any more of them? Are we still fighting back?"

I narrow my eyes in the dim light, and when I look past the dirty bandage on his face, I eventually recognise him. He's one of Baize's crew, a man who I last saw manning one of the guns that surround the city. I wish I could remember his name.

"Of course we're still fighting back," I tell him, trying to sound as positive as I can. "And even Baize can shoot straight now."

He laughs but then quickly stops, raising his hand to the side of his head. "I was caught in an explosion when a bomb went off," he says. "They say I have to stay here because I might have concussion. But between you and me, I think I'm going to get something a lot worse than that if I don't leave."

I stare back at him, knowing he speaks the truth. "Can you walk?"

"Yes," he replies fiercely, but then he looks down at his hands and shrugs his shoulders. "Well, just about. I'm still a bit…unsteady. I was trying to talk myself into moving, but…as you can see, I'm still here."

I look around and then walk the short distance to what looks like a thin metal pipe from one of the factories. It's been cut to about half the height of a man and has some kind of plastic handle on one end.

"Is anyone using this?" I snap, grasping the arm of the nearest medic.

"No, Commander Paylor," says the young man. "He who was died this morning," he continues, speaking in a much quieter voice.

I nod and walk back to the man sitting on the bed, holding the improvised crutch out towards him.

"There's a lot of the old packing floor boys up by the main square checking and moving some of the food somewhere safer. I figure they'll need someone to keep an eye on them."

"Yes, Commander Paylor," he says, using the crutch to push himself shakily to his feet.

I watch him hobble off in the direction of the main door, hoping I've done the right thing and that he won't collapse the second he sets foot outside. But then I forget about him almost totally when I see Cali directing three other people, who are struggling to carry a man to a bed. I can see from here that he's lost a leg, and there's a trail of blood left on the floor behind them.

"Cali?"

"What are you doing here, Flax?"

"I don't know," I reply honestly once she's standing by my side and I know nobody else will hear me. "I thought I should see it for myself, I guess."

"Perhaps you should," she says tiredly. "But there's nothing you can do about it so you might as well go back to the guns. The Capitol will be back soon enough and it'll all start again."

"I'm sorry, Cali."

"Why? They did this, not you. Why should you be sorry? Don't waste your time being sorry, Flax. That's no good to anyone. If you want to make yourself useful then go outside and direct people for me. Minor injuries next door, majors in here."

"But-" I start, feeling like I should force myself to stay in here for a bit longer.

"They'll listen to their Commander Paylor," she interrupts, resting a bloodstained hand on my upper arm. "Please, Flax."

I nod once and leave her to it, going back to the warehouse entrance to do as she wanted. There are people everywhere, and I try to send as many of them as I can next door. As Cali predicted, they do as I say, but some of them are reluctant and want to go into the main hospital, perhaps thinking they'll be safer in there than outside. But they haven't seen it. They don't understand. I ignore the dirty looks they send me and keep shouting. If they're well enough to glare mutinously at me then they're well enough to not be inside Warehouse Two.

* * *

><p>When they step through the mist that seems to have settled all around the warehouses, the immaculate, white-uniformed medics look so out of place that I notice them immediately. My eyes linger on them for a few seconds before I refocus on the broken people who are all around me and continue directing them, ignoring how I'm starting to lose my voice with all the shouting.<p>

But then I see more people moving behind the medics, and though I dismiss them at first, I'm soon staring at them once more. It's her. I'd know her face anywhere. Katniss Everdeen. Our Mockingjay, the face of the rebellion, walking amongst us in an immaculate black and white uniform that tells me all too clearly that this is probably the first time she's left the relative safety of District Thirteen since the Quarter Quell ended.

I stride towards her, suddenly determined that she won't be shielded anymore, that she'll see the reality of this war now she's finally here. I stop a short distance away, surprised to find she looks a lot younger in person than she does when she's on the television and has been made up by the Capitol. She's even smaller than Zib. She looks like a child, and her appearance makes me realise why Thirteen have kept her hidden for so long.

Everyone stares at each other for a few seconds, but I shrug my shoulders to move my gun strap so it isn't digging into the most painful part of the cut on my neck before glaring fiercely at the medics and gesturing to the hospital entrance. If they're here then they might as well make themselves useful, Mockingjay or no Mockingjay. Panem knows there's more than enough for them to do.

"This is Commander Paylor of Eight," says a familiar voice, and I look to Katniss' left to see Boggs standing by her side. "Commander, Soldier Katniss Everdeen."

"Yeah, I know who she is," I reply, narrowing my eyes at both of them as I think of how many of the people of my district have died while they've been hiding away in safety without even offering a word of encouragement or support. "You're alive, then. We weren't sure."

"I'm still not sure myself," she replies, her District Twelve accent suddenly very pronounced.

"Been in recovery," says Boggs, tapping his head. "Bad concussion."

For over four weeks? Does he think I'm stupid?

But then he lowers his voice and mentions a miscarriage.

"But she insisted on coming by to see your wounded," Boggs continues, and it takes all the willpower I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at him. As if that's the reason she's here. I smell a publicity stunt, and I can tell from the expressions on the faces of the rebels who have started to gather around me that I'm not the only one.

"Well, we've got plenty of those," I reply, shrugging my shoulders and deciding to play along. She's here now and there's not a lot I can do about it. And people still believe in her, so seeing her might do them some good. It might give them a bit of hope again.

"You think this is a good idea?" asks the tall, dark-haired man beside the Mockingjay. He looks vaguely familiar, and I think I remember seeing him on the television when she was in the arena. But now he's standing in front of me, his voice definitely hinting at a tone of accusation as he looks towards the hospital. "Assembling your wounded like this?"

"I think it's slightly better than leaving them to die," I growl back, suddenly wanting everyone around us to disappear so I can give him what for and tell him what I'm really thinking.

"That's not what I meant."

No, I know exactly what you meant, boy. You with your idealistic theories and good intentions, standing there and looking at me like you think I can't see it too.

"Well, currently that's my other option. But if you can come up with a third and get Coin to back it, I'm all ears," I reply eventually, speaking after biting my lip until my initial response faded away as I thought about Coin's refusal to help me evacuate most of the people who now lie inside the hospital. "Come on in, Mockingjay," I continue, waving my hand towards the warehouse door. If she's here then she should see the reality with her own eyes before she runs back into hiding. "And by all means, bring your friends."

I turn my back on them all and stride towards the hospital, taking a deep breath because I don't want to go back in there either. The smell of the rank, humid air hits me as soon as I walk inside, but I force myself to keep walking because I know our visitors and the people in the hospital are all watching me. I'm bringing their beloved Mockingjay to see them, she who has been the focus of the ordinary people of this district who have neither the will nor the ability to fight. As soon as they see us, all eyes will be drawn, and they have to see at least one of us standing strong. I glance back at Katniss to find her looking more than a little queasy and grasping the hand of the man who is with her. I guess it'll be me who has to stay strong then.

I lead her past row upon row of corpses, informing her that I haven't been able to spare the people to take them away to our latest mass grave just to see if she'll be able to respond without bringing up her breakfast. She doesn't say a word.

Memories of what I saw a short time earlier return to haunt me before I've even pushed through the curtain, but prior knowledge doesn't reduce the horror that rises up inside when I see them again. They're everywhere, on beds, on chairs, and even lying on the floor, with the few medics and volunteers we have weaving amongst them trying to do what they can. My eyes find Cali's and I find myself thinking I might have the best of this war, even if I am facing the Capitol's hoverplanes behind the barrel of a gun. I couldn't keep going if I had to deal with this day and night like she has to.

It doesn't take long for the first person to notice Katniss, a young woman in the bed nearest to us who calls her name in a mixture of delight and stunned disbelief, and soon after that, news of her arrival spreads through the nightmarish warehouse like the fire that followed her during her first Games. They're all drawn to her like moths to a candle flame, and for a moment I forget about my earlier resentment. She's here and she's giving them hope. Maybe she isn't a dead loss after all.

I watch her as she makes her way to as many of them as she can, taking their hands when they can reach for her and touching them when they can't, and with every step she takes, my opinion of her increases. She didn't want to take another step into this building, that much was obvious just from looking at her, but she's still here. She looks like a feeble little girl but the strength she's always seemed to have is real enough. It wasn't all a trick of the cameras, and I'm relieved.

She stands on a table so as many of them can see her as possible when she's finally waving goodbye, and the moans of pain and cries of grief are temporarily replaced by endless chanting of her name.

"Now do you see it?" whispers a voice behind me, and I turn to see Cali standing there, her hands and coat covered in blood.

"See what?"

"How it's possible for a normal person to be extraordinary, to have power over others just because of what they've done and might be able to do in the future. I bet she never imagined being where she is now, any more than you did."

"She's the Mockingjay, Cali," I reply. "We're hardly the same. But yes, I understand what you mean."

* * *

><p>I walk out of the warehouse after the Mockingjay and her entourage, but I don't watch them leave. I can't seem to tear my eyes away from the people still inside, who are buzzing with excitement following Katniss' appearance despite their injuries and surroundings.<p>

But then I look away to see Zib racing towards me, and she's barely stopped before she's grabbing my arm and pulling me back towards the door. I'd expected her to have heard about our visitors from Thirteen and to be here to see the Mockingjay with her own eyes, but I can tell before she speaks that this is something entirely different and a lot worse.

"They're coming back, Flax," she gasps as we race out of the hospital and down the street. "The radar picked them up. At least five waves of them!"

"They know she's here! This is for her!" I shout back, climbing one of the ladders attached to the side of the warehouse ahead of her and not pausing for a second.

The sirens begin to wail and the first planes drop their sight shields overhead just as Zib and I reach a nest of guns on the roof and throw ourselves behind the barrier. I look to the side and see Cam and a just-about-recovered Luce crouched behind the next group of guns, their expressions grim as they prepare to fire. Beyond them, I can see the barrels of more guns moving as rebel fighters take aim at the Capitol planes.

When the bombs fall, the ground shakes like it always does. I have to fight the urge to cover my ears as the sound of the impact and the subsequent explosions fills my mind. They're close. Too close to be aiming for the area surrounding the main square like they usually do, hoping to cause the maximum amount of damage to anything we're using to survive as possible.

"The hospital!" screams Zib's voice in my ear. "The bastards are bombing the hospital!"

The second wave of planes appears and she fires her gun in a continuous stream of bullets and rage, screaming insults at the Capitol the whole time. All I can think of is the faces of the people crammed inside that warehouse, the wounded and sick who will have no chance of escape. But then my chest constricts even further so I feel I can barely breathe at all as I abruptly realise something else.

"Cali," I gasp, knowing nobody will hear me but thinking of her as I open fire on the planes alongside Zib.

Between the four of us and the rest of the rebels lined up behind the guns with us, we take out three of the bombers, and once the rest have passed and reactivated their shields, we watch the fallen planes burn in a silence punctuated by collapsing buildings, small explosions and the sounds of people screaming and crying drifting up from the streets below. That's when I hear the sound of racing footsteps coming from the direction of one of the access ladders to my right. I rise to my feet, reaching for my gun, but then I see a flash of black and white uniform.

"The little Mockingjay's come to join the party," I whisper to Zib, and I can see the mixture of curiosity and resentment in her dark eyes as we watch her pull her friend who had tried to talk down to me earlier up beside her. "I bet Coin and the rest are beside themselves now they've lost their best asset."

Katniss and her companion race across the roof and throw themselves behind the barrier next to Zib and me. I see the recognition in her eyes as she stares across at me.

"Boggs know you're up here?" I ask, suspecting that I already know the answer to that one.

"He knows where we are, all right."

I bet he does, I think. But I also bet that she's a long way from where she's meant to be. Realising that and knowing she's defied her protectors because she wants a piece of the action makes me think more of her. It makes me think of her like I did when she was standing on that table in the hospital, and I laugh at her defiance.

"I bet he does. You been trained in these?" I ask, considering giving her the chance to have a shot at the Capitol because there's no feeling like it and I can't help thinking she's earned that much.

"I have. In Thirteen," says the man who stands beside her. He remains aloof and I'm more convinced than ever that he somehow thinks himself above me. "But I'd rather use my own weapons."

"Yes, we've got our bows," says Katniss, holding hers up. "It's more deadly than it looks," she adds, and I'm unsure if she's trying to convince me or herself.

"It would have to be," I reply, just about stopping myself from hitting Zib when I hear her snigger quietly behind me. The Mockingjay might be on her way to convincing me of a lot of things, but she's got a long way to go with my friend. "All right. We expect at least three more waves. They have to drop their sight shields before they release the bombs. That's our chance. Stay low!"

I say my last two words in the most commanding voice I can muster, hoping they sunk in. The last thing I want to do is have to explain to the rest of the rebellion how the Mockingjay died less than a foot away from me.

"Better start with fire," says the dark-haired man whose name I don't know, making me wonder what he's talking about.

However Katniss seems to understand perfectly and I don't have time to think about it for long because the next wave of planes appears above us. My mind is full with the sound of gunfire once more, and when I choose a plane to fire at, Zib follows my lead and aims for the same one. We don't bring it down but it doesn't disappear. I hope someone in District One gets it before it reaches the safety of the Capitol.

Then the wing of another plane bursts into flame and I glance to my right at Katniss. The Games weren't a fluke. She _is _a good shot. She's wasted trapped in Thirteen.

"Fine," mutters Zib, so quietly I barely hear her. "Maybe she's deadlier than she looks."

I grin wildly at her, considering that this war is going to drive me insane. Then the next bombers appear and I don't have time to keep thinking about it.

"Positions!" I shout, making sure my voice will carry down the line of guns.

The air fills with the sound of gunfire and explosions again, but I block everything else out and focus only on the planes. It's only when the three which survive our attack have disappeared from view that I realise Katniss is standing up a short distance away, her bow still raised from where she fired her last arrow.

"All right, that's it," I say, resisting the urge to shout at her for putting herself in danger when I told her to stay low.

"The Almighty Commander Paylor's pissed off that she was disobeyed," taunts Zib playfully in a quiet voice only I can hear. "Admit it. You know you want to."

"Did they hit the hospital?"

The Mockingjay's question makes Zib fall silent instantly as she's reminded of what the Capitol's most recent raid was for. She rests her hand on my wrist. I can feel her trembling from the effort of firing the gun so many times.

"Must have," I answer eventually, already dreading what I'll see when I climb down from the top of this warehouse.

When Katniss turns and runs back towards the ladder, perhaps only now realising what she's done and what might have happened had she not been so lucky, I grasp Zib's hand like I'm never going to let go. The hospital's been hit. I have to move. I have to try to save the people inside. I have to try to save Cali. So why am I still standing here?

"Let's go!" I shout, dragging Zib towards a different ladder to the one the Mockingjay used without looking back to see if the others are following me because I can already hear their footsteps hitting the tar roof of the warehouse.

* * *

><p>I see the hospital and my heart sinks. The roof has caved in and the whole building's ablaze. All around me there are people screaming and shouting, crying and wailing, but worse than that are the crashing, banging sounds coming from what's left of what used to be Warehouse Two as it rapidly collapses in on itself.<p>

I sprint towards it but am soon driven back by the heat of the flames. I see a group of people trying to find a way inside. The flames drive them back as well, just as quickly as they did me. It's hopeless. Apart from the tiny number of survivors who got out before it was too late and are now lying where they fell on the street, everyone who was inside that massive building is dead.

I sink to my knees and watch it burn. There's nothing else I can do.

* * *

><p>"Flax? Why aren't you getting up? Flax, it's raining."<p>

Eventually I turn my head to look up at the child staring down at me. Her dirty-blonde hair that sets her apart from her mother and sister and gives away the fact she isn't entirely of District Eight birth is plastered to her head because of the rain. It looks as dark as mine now. Like she has no father, which is what Gabby always used to tell her before she got old enough to know better.

"Adie, what are you doing out here? Your Ma will kill you herself. The Capitol might come back."

"Was Katniss really here?" she asks, ignoring my threat and sitting down on the wet, muddy ground beside me. "That's what people are saying."

"Yes," I reply, gazing at the burnt, smoking remains of the hospital in front of me. "She came to see us, to see the people at the hospital."

"They're dead now, aren't they?"

"Yes, Adie. They're all dead."

"Cali was looking for you."

"Cali's dead, Adie. She was in the hospital."

"She is not," she replies forcefully, speaking as if she resents me questioning her and for once suddenly reminding me more of Taffy than of Gabardine. "I saw her a couple of hours ago. She was really upset about what happened. She wanted you, but Ma said you were down here. Cali started crying again and ran away."

I tear my eyes from the remains of the hospital and look back at Adie. The first thing I think is that I can't imagine Cali crying. But then it hits me. She got out. She's still alive.

* * *

><p>I walk around for hours, trying to process all that's happened at the same time as trying to find Cali. There aren't as many people around as usual, and something tells me it's because of the bombing of the hospital. The Capitol's cruelty has finally driven everyone into hiding, and I think about going to Coin and accepting her offer to take in refugees. It must be the thousandth time I've thought of it, but that doesn't mean I'm any the wiser when I walk past a crumbling shell of a building and hear someone moving around inside.<p>

"Let me do that," I say as soon as I push open what's left of the door to find Cali trying to replace a bandage on her hand. She's burnt herself again. I suppose it was when she was trying to save people from the hospital after the bombing. I can't find the words to ask.

"I can do it myself," she replies before she's even looked up at me, but when she finally does, her eyes follow me as I walk across the room towards her.

"I never said you couldn't," I say, pretending it's her stubbornness that makes me shake my head as I take the bandage from her unresisting hand.

She smiles slightly but doesn't speak again, and we sit there in silence as I try to do a passable job of wrapping the clean fabric around her burnt skin. I look up at her soot-blackened face, before dropping my gaze to the rest of her. There are holes in her clothes and I can see the burns and scratches on her skin through them.

"Cali, look at the state of you. You need proper treatment. Someone to check you properly."

"I think you should stick to leading us into battle, Flax," she says eventually, raising her awkwardly bandaged hand. "Leave the first aid to me."

"No need to be ungrateful," I reply, trying to smile.

She sees right through me as she always does, and pulls me towards her. I rest my head on her shoulder and she hisses in pain, but she shakes her head and stops me when I go to move.

"It's all right. Stay there. You're keeping me warm."

"You can talk to me if you want to. I don't know what else to say but I'll listen if you need me to."

"I don't know what to say either," she replies. "I've seen the Capitol do terrible things, but I've only felt like I felt today once before. And it hurts, Flax. It hurts so much that I don't think I can bear it. It makes me want to crawl under a rock and hide, but it makes me want revenge as well. I want to fight them. I want to cause them a tenth of the pain they've caused me even though I know it will never be enough and it will never bring her back."

"I'm sorry, Cali. I can't imagine what it was like in there. I'd been avoiding seeing it for so long because I'm a coward really, and I couldn't face it. And now this has happened…"

"I can still hear them screaming. Just like I can still hear Dimity screaming even after all these years," she says, and then I feel as well as hear the deep breath she takes before abruptly changing the subject as if she wishes she hadn't said that. "Aida's dead, did you know that?"

"No. How? Nobody's seen her since the Quell reaping," I reply, remembering the vacant, empty look on the face of our first female Victor when her younger counterpart was chosen and she was not.

"She came to the hospital first thing this morning. We talked, sort of. I don't think she really realised I was there. She told me things, things about the Capitol that made my skin crawl. And then she said she wanted to help. I've never seen someone so broken, Flax, but she wanted to help. She was too fragile to do much so I had her folding linen. She was singing as she worked and so many people stopped to listen."

"Talk to me, Cali. If you can't talk about today then tell me about Dimity. I've known about what happened to her all my life but you've never spoken of her once."

"I…I can't," she replies eventually, staring down at her hands. "Every time I think I'm moving on and forgetting what happened, I see or hear something that makes me remember."

"Why would you forget her?" I ask, again finding myself unnerved at seeing someone as usually steady as Cali looking so fragile. "She was your sister. You won't ever forget."

"She was fourteen," she whispers, finally speaking after staying quiet for so long that I thought I'd heard as much as I was going to. "And she died on the first night, screaming and in pain while I stood in in front of the television screen in the square and watched. There were mutts… Mutts like in the Quell arena but different… They tore her apart, Flax. She was my little sister and those things tore her apart."

I'm not very good at this, not with Cali. I'm more used to her putting a comforting arm around me than the other way around. But when she leans against me I find myself pulling her closer automatically. She cries herself out and I cry as well. I hope she doesn't notice, but when she sits up and wipes my tears away with the back of the hand without the bandage, I know she did.

"I was nineteen," she says. "I'd have gone in her place if I could have, but I couldn't. It was only by a couple of days, so I tried to volunteer anyway. They wouldn't let me. Gabardine's still telling me not to blame myself even now, but I always did."

"Why? You said it yourself, you were nineteen. There was nothing you could have done."

"She was my sister and I knew she was going to die in that arena. I should have been brave enough to think of something. I should have given her the peaceful, painless death she deserved. There. I can say it now. The Capitol aren't here. They can't make those I love suffer because I've said it."

"You couldn't have done it, Cali," I whisper. "You couldn't have taken her life because there was still a tiny chance she'd come home."

"But I had to watch her die," she says, her voice suddenly deadly calm and almost emotionless. "When she was surrounded by those…creatures, she cried out for our father and mother and she cried out for me. She was crying for me to save her and I couldn't do anything."

"We can't change what happened in the past," I reply, rising to my feet and holding my hand out to her. "I wish we could but we can't."

"I'll kill myself before I surrender to the Capitol, Flax, you know that, don't you?"

"Won't we all," I answer grimly, pulling her up and linking my arm with hers as we walk out of the remains of the building and back towards the main square.

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, I'm climbing up the Communication Centre stairs towards the control room, leading a weary Cali along because she refused to let me leave her on her own.<p>

"I'm surprised it's still standing," I say, gazing pointedly at the stone pillars that surround us as I try to keep her talking at least until we get to where we're going.

"They only target what doesn't matter to them," she replies quietly, and I know she's thinking of all of those people who died in the hospital.

I thread my arm through hers and keep walking. If there are words then I can't think of them.

But then I get hit by a barrage of noise and I don't have time to think anymore. I'm suddenly surrounded by people and I let them carry me further into the room, more to keep them away from Cali than because I welcome the attention, which makes absolutely no sense at all when they all surround her too.

"Stop!" I shout, pinning my arms to my sides and fixing myself in one spot when it all becomes too much. I could almost laugh when everyone abruptly falls still and totally silent. "Would someone just tell me what's going on?"

"We've been on the television," says Zib proudly, pushing herself to the front of the group.

"What do you mean?"

"With the Mockingjay. You know those people who were on the roof with her after the bombing?" I nod and she quickly continues. "They were filming her. And they were filming us. Someone in Thirteen must have hacked the network, because one minute they were replaying Enobaria Moreno's Games, _again_, and then the screen blacked out, and-"

"Look," hisses Gabby urgently, cutting across her daughter's frenzied explanation. "They're doing it again. Watch."

When I turn to the massive television, feeling as surprised as ever that it's still intact, I see nothing but a blank screen. However before I can ask Gabby what she means, a little flash of light appears at the centre and gradually expands until it looks like the whole thing's on fire.

"What-"

"Flax, just watch," snaps Gabby, telling me off like I'm still nine years old.

I do as I'm told and keep watching, and the flames quickly transform into the image of a mockingjay, a burning replica of the pin Katniss wore in the arena. A voice rings out around the room and I instantly recognise it. Claudius Templesmith, the voice of the Hunger Games.

"Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire, burns on," he says, and it makes me wonder how they managed it. Then I vaguely recall him saying similar things when she was still a tribute. They probably just used that.

Then suddenly the images I'm seeing are of a place a lot more familiar. It's the hospital, the warehouses and the burning Capitol planes littering the ground, the death, destruction and screaming. It brings back memories of what happened so much that it feels like I'm there again, and it doesn't take the Mockingjay telling me through the screen that we need to fight back to make me believe it.

"We'll be on in a minute," says Zib, stepping across to stand next to the chair I'd sat on and then sitting on my lap when I don't move over. She leans back against me and by the time I realise I probably don't look much like a commander, I also realise nobody in here really cares anyway. I look back at the television and Zib smiles as if she knows what I'm thinking.

Sure enough, after a series of shots showing Katniss and her patronising friend racing down the street in the middle of the bombing, I see the moment when she joins us on the warehouse rooftop. I see Zib and Cam and Luce, all firing on the planes, but the strangest part is when I see myself. I barely recognise the battered, bruised and truly filthy-looking rebel who smiles wickedly to herself as a bomber goes down, but at the same time I still feel proud. We're fighting back, and if this is anything to judge by, it looks like the whole of Panem can see it. I wish Grandpa could see me now.

I refocus on the screen with blurry eyes just in time to see a Capitol seal on one of the fallen planes fade back into a picture of Katniss, staring straight into the camera.

"Fire is catching! And if we burn, you burn with us!" she shouts, and a second later the screen seems to burst into flames again, leaving her words behind until they also catch fire before the whole thing blacks out.

More images of the Hunger Games begin to play, presumably when the Capitol takes control of the broadcast back, but Gabby quickly cuts the power and the screen blacks out. The room is silent for several minutes, but then it's like someone flicks a switch and virtually everyone starts talking at once.

"Is this it then?" asks Baize loudly, and I push Zib to her feet when I realise everyone's looking at me. "Are Thirteen going to fight the Capitol?"

"If the Mockingjay's finally making an appearance then they must be," I reply eventually. "But I've no idea how or when. You know how talkative Coin is as well as I do."

"I want to fight," says Zib, sitting on one of the tables now she's without her previous resting place.

"You are fighting," I answer, but I know what she means before she says it. "Didn't you see the wrecked planes outside?"

"You know what I mean, Flax. I mean in the Capitol."

"Even if it means leaving Eight and joining with Thirteen?" I ask, trying to include everyone in the question.

"Yes," says Cali flatly, her voice stronger than it was earlier on when only I could hear her speak. "Until the war's over anyway. I'll wear the grey if I get to help bring the Capitol down," she continues, glancing across at Lucan in his grey uniform.

"And do you all agree with that?" I call, standing up so they can all see me.

"What do you think we should do?" asks Luce, throwing her tightly curled hair over her shoulders and wincing when the movement pulls on her old gunshot wound. "Do you trust Thirteen?"

"The two questions are different," I reply, sitting on the table next to Zib. "No, I don't trust them, but they're the ones with the weapons and the hovercrafts and the army. We can stay here and wait to run out of food and fresh water, or we can join them, fight, and deal with anything else that happens when it happens. The only way we're ever going to have lives worth living is if we win the war. The way I see it, we have no choice."

"And what about those who can't fight?" asks Gabardine, making me wonder how she imagines herself joining the battle.

"We send them to Thirteen first. If there's nobody here and the Mockingjay's appearing on his television screens then I don't think President Snow will bother with empty, broken little District Eight. We're too in the middle of nowhere to be of strategic importance so he'll have bigger things to worry about. Like us when we join the Mockingjays," I add, thinking they're probably now seeing the same smile the rest of the country saw on the rebel's broadcast as I imagine travelling to the big city and seeing more Capitolian seals burning.

Nobody speaks for several minutes after that, and I know we're all thinking the same thing.

We're all thinking of the day we'll see the Capitol fall.

* * *

><p><em><strong>As some of you probably noticed last week, I've been writing Clove again, and she still isn't leaving me alone now... I've got terrible writer's block with this one and I'm really not getting anywhere beyond Chapter 10. District Two is suddenly looking even more appealing than normal... Moral support? Encouragement? Suggestions that I should return to my Career districts permanently? All are welcome :P <strong>_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Flax?"

I heard footsteps approaching first, long before I heard the voice. But the latter is what makes me turn around straight away because it was one I hadn't been expecting to hear. I'd been expecting someone, obviously. I've been out here alone for hours and they all know I've spoken to Coin. Their curiosity and need for information was bound to bring at least one of them out here sooner or later and I'm surprised it took them this long. But I was expecting Cam or Zib or Cali. I wasn't expecting to turn around and see Lucet standing a short distance away, shivering in the cold.

"Everyone wants to know what's going on, Flax," she says, smiling slightly and walking closer to the fallen stone column I'm sitting on.

"_I _don't know what's going on yet, Luce," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

She looks down at me, her dark eyes shining in the torchlight, and she sits beside me as soon as I move over, pushing close because it's so cold. Then I wait. From the day she started at the factory when I was nineteen and she was twelve, she's never been able to keep silent when there's something she wants to know.

"What did Coin say?" she asks, not disappointing me and being as direct as ever.

"Yes," I answer eventually. "She knows what happened at the hospital when the Mockingjay was here and she says she'll take our refugees."

"What about us? What about everyone who wants to fight?"

"There's still fighting in a lot of the other districts. She says it's not time to move on the Capitol yet. We're to stay here and hold Eight until she says otherwise."

"And what do you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think, Luce. Coin's running the show, whether we like it or not. But she's right. We haven't a chance of taking the Capitol until we control all of the districts."

"How do you know all this stuff?" she asks, resting her head on my shoulder and putting her arm around me.

She's a lot taller than Zib and a lot lighter and less solid than Cam, but I turn slightly to look down at her, appreciating the warmth anyway.

"Grandpa…I mean Hem used to tell me tales of the Dark Days right from when I was a young child. Until people started asking me that question, I never realised he was teaching me battle strategy at the same time."

"He wanted you to do this?"

"I like to think so," I reply, still trying to decide in my own mind if Grandpa's tales had a purpose or if I learnt anything I'm putting to use now entirely by accident. "Are you going to tell me why they've sent you? There must be a reason."

"I wanted to talk to you," she says softly. "I want you to send me to Thirteen first. Before we send anyone else."

Her suggestion surprises me. I've been thinking about sending someone I trust back in one of the hovercrafts that brings the supplies so they can see the place we're sending our people to for themselves, but I was thinking of Baize or Darry, someone with a bit of experience who will notice things that other people might not. I wasn't thinking of Luce.

"Why?"

"Because of Lin."

I think of my friend's big sister, of how she was nearly killed in a factory accident that left her unable to use her hands properly. Poplin couldn't operate the machines again and she certainly couldn't thread or hold a needle. To the Capitol, she was useless, and Luce has supported her ever since. However from what I've seen and heard recently, what upsets Lin most is that she can't fire a gun at the Peacekeepers. I can't imagine her letting her sister send her away to safety, and the look on my face must tell Luce exactly what I'm thinking.

"I want her to come with me. She's smart, you know that. We'll go and check it out, I'll give Lin time to find something useful to do that she believes in, and then I'll come back and report to you. Please, Flax. Protecting the young and old ones isn't enough for her. The explosion took her hands, not her mind."

I think about it for a minute before nodding and getting up. Luce is standing beside me virtually instantly, smiling in a way she hasn't since long before she was shot at the beginning of the uprising.

"You have to remember everything you see, Luce. Ask questions. Find out what's going on."

She nods and races away, calling back that she's going to get her sister. Unsure if I've made the right decision, I sigh and start back towards the Justice Building.

I've got an escort before I even reach the steps. It might be the early hours of the morning, but Adie and Taffy still have seemingly limitless energy and questions.

"Are we going to war?" asks Adie, threading her hand through my belt and holding on tight. "Are we going to fight the Capitol?"

"We're already fighting the Capitol," I reply, shaking my head amusedly as Taffy grasps the pocket on my jacket and it falls off in her hand. It'd been hanging on by a thread for days, but not anymore. I narrow my eyes at her and she stares back, trying but failing to look innocent. When I smile, both girls laugh. "But you two might be going on a trip to District Thirteen."

"Why? Because of the bombing?"

"Yes. It's safer in Thirteen," I say, hoping I'm not lying to them.

"I don't want to be safe. I want to fight," says Adie. "I want to fight like Zibby. Is she going to Thirteen as well?"

"Soon," I reply. "But not straight away. We're staying here for a while first."

"I want to stay," says Taffy flatly as we begin to descend towards the basement. "I'm not a baby."

"I know that," I say, skipping down a couple of steps before turning around to hold her still. Adie's looking down at me and Taffy's at eye level now, and it seems strange. I decide to take a risk. "But you've known nothing but the Capitol and the factories. You need to learn the truth, and you can do that in Thirteen."

"You've known nothing but the Capitol and the factories too," answers Adie immediately, making me mentally curse the intelligence she shares with her sister that they clearly both inherited from Gabby. "And you're staying."

"I'm a bit older than you, Adie. I know you're not a baby, but you're too young to go to war."

"I want to help. We both do."

"Have you seen the soldiers from Thirteen?"

"Obviously," replies Taffy, who then shrinks back slightly when I cuff her ears lightly and tell her not to be cheeky.

"Do you think they look like the type of people who will let anyone who can be useful stand around doing nothing?" Both girls shake their heads. "Well then. I'll make sure they find you jobs to do."

"Flax! Finally!" calls Zib as she throws the door at the foot of the stairs wide open and leans out.

Adie races to her sister immediately and tries to lift her off the ground, as she's tried so many times before, just to see if she can. This time she almost manages it, and I can't help thinking that if the war carries on for much longer then I might well be seeing her on the front line with me. She looks a lot older than twelve and she's as determined to take the Capitol on as the rest of us. She idolises Zib and absorbs her beliefs like a sponge.

"I don't want to go to Thirteen, Zibby," she cries. "I want to stay here with you."

"We'll see," replies Zib, looking around her sister's shoulder at me. "Did Luce find you? Did she tell you what she wants to do?"

I nod just as I hear more people on the stairs behind me. Luce skids to a halt beside me and Lin stops next to her, holding her ruined hands at her sides as she almost bounces up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Luce told me you want us to go to Thirteen, Commander Paylor," she says, making me wonder how much of the story she's actually been told. "When's the hovercraft coming?"

"In about half an hour. Well, knowing Coin, I should probably say twenty-seven minutes," I add, looking at my watch. "And for Panem's sake, call me Flax when the Thirteens aren't here. Please. We've known each other for long enough."

* * *

><p>In typical District Thirteen style, the hovercraft arrives on time to the exact minute, and its occupants waste no time before they start unloading the supplies they've brought. When I approach them, they glare accusingly at me, almost as if they know I'm about to say something and they're annoyed that I might be about to disrupt their schedule. I look for Eliza but she isn't there.<p>

"Soldier?" I call, cornering the nearest grey-uniformed person so they have no choice but to stop.

He tries to ignore me to start with, but somehow he must recognise me because once he finally looks up into my eyes, he straightens his back and salutes sharply.

"Commander."

"You'll have two extra passengers when you return to District Thirteen," I say, beckoning to Luce and Lin so they come forward to stand by my side. "This is Lucet and this is Poplin."

"I'm sorry, Commander Paylor, but we can't just take people back to the compound. There are rules-"

"You took in everyone who survived the destruction of Twelve," I snap. "So I think you can accommodate two more for a while."

"I… But…" starts the man, who looks decidedly flustered now. "Have you…?"

"That's an order, Soldier. If it's a problem then I'm happy to discuss it with President Coin."

To my surprise, the man salutes again and then nods to Luce and Lin before gesturing towards the hovercraft. They climb inside without hesitation, and Luce waves before the District Thirteen soldier follows them and quickly closes the door.

"I still can't get used to it," I whisper when I sense Cam moving to stand behind me. "If I wasn't me then I wouldn't do what I said without question."

"If you weren't you?" he replies, laughing lightly before becoming serious again. "From what I've seen, these people are just foot soldiers. They're not raised to question, Flax," he replies, leaning into me slightly when I lean back against him for warmth. "But there are people in Thirteen who question everything, I'm sure of it. What do you think will happen to Luce and Lin when they get there?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "But we can't keep everyone here forever. The food and water will run out and the Capitol will have seen that film."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"The Mockingjay in District Eight? Who do you think's going to pay the price for that one?"

"I didn't think about it like that."

"I did," I reply grimly. "Which is why someone had to go to Thirteen."

* * *

><p>I spent the hours that followed hoping I had thought wrong, but deep inside I knew I hadn't. When the first wave of planes appeared and were then followed by more and more until I started to think they wouldn't stop until every one of us was dead, I knew what this was. Retribution. For Katniss, for the film District Thirteen broadcast and for the shots of us shooting Capitolian soldiers from the sky. I wasn't surprised.<p>

I look up instantly when Cali calls my name, temporarily stopping my futile attempt to salvage something from a food store that had been hit during the raid to watch her. The blood on her clothes isn't unusual, but the tears running down her cheeks are, and my heart sinks before she even has chance to say a word.

"It's Gabby. You have to come now," she gasps, already turning back the way she came even as she holds her hand out to me.

I drop everything and race across the square with Cali trailing behind me, and I barely notice Baize as he points me in the direction of the collapsed building I'd sheltered in before. Looking at it now, with the small knot of silent people in front of it, I can't believe I was there only such a short time I reach what I suppose can just about be called the entrance, for once I don't have time to take in the horror of what I see all around me. I follow Cali's directions numbly until I see Lucan and Cam standing in front of me like guards. I can't see around the wall they stand in front of. I'm not sure I want to.

"What happened?"

"The bombs started," answers Cam, stepping forward and resting his hand on my arm to keep me still so he can make sure I'm still whole and unhurt like he's done ever since the uprising started. "And some people didn't get out in time. Gabby went back to try and free someone from the rubble and it collapsed on top of her. She died a couple of minutes after we brought her here."

"And Zib?" I ask, resting my head on his shoulder as shock temporarily makes me forget who I have to be now.

"She's around there with her," he replies, gesturing in the direction of the crumbling wall.

I nod and pull away, walking slowly forwards even though part of me wants nothing more than to run away. The first person I see is Gabardine, lying serenely on the pile of dirty, dusty sheets and blankets that have been put down on the floor, her eyes closed and her hands crossed over her chest. Then I see Zib curled up next to her, and though she's facing away from me, I know she's crying because her whole body's trembling. I look at them and I've never hated the Capitol more.

"Zib? Zib, it's me."

"Are you my Flax or are you Commander Paylor?" she says eventually, speaking in a barely audible voice that's shaking as much as her body.

"I told you, it's me," I reply, walking the short distance over to her and putting my hand on her shoulder. "I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, Zib."

I sit down behind her, uncomfortable on the sharp edges of the fallen stone, and that's enough to make her turn around and throw herself into my arms.

"She's dead," she says through her tears. "She's dead and she can't be dead. I need her, Flax. I love her so much and now she's gone. I don't know what to do."

I hold her and let her cry until she has no tears left, at least partly because it's easier than trying to think of something to say. If I'm honest then I've always known it was only a matter of time before this happened, before someone close to me dies, but that doesn't make it any easier and it doesn't stop me from wishing it wasn't Zib who suffered most.

"I need to tell Adie," she says eventually. "How can I, Flax? How can I tell her that her Ma's dead?"

"I don't know. But you'll find a way. You'll think of something because it'll be better coming from you, you know that."

"She's with Taffy. Nessa was watching her."

"Flax?"

"What is it?" I reply, responding to Cam's call even though I can't see him from here.

"Come here a minute."

"Not now, Cam. I'm sure there's someone else in this district other than me who can make a decision for once."

"I need to speak to you."

"Then come in here and speak to her," interrupts Zib, and when I hear nothing but silence in response, I know there's something wrong.

Cam peers cautiously around the end of the wall, not meeting Zib's eyes for even a second.

"Word got out that Gabardine was hurt. Nessa's here but she says Adie ran away. She doesn't know where she is."

"What do you mean, she doesn't know where she is?" shouts Zib, jumping to her feet instantly. "I have to find her. I have to go. Help me, Flax. Please."

I look up at the sky, knowing that there are any number of other things I should be doing that will help the whole of the district rather than just this one woman who stares beseechingly up at me with wet, tear-stained eyes. But when I look at Zib, I can't think of any of them. She's my closest friend and I've known her all my life. We were in this together and I can't walk away from her now.

I take a deep breath and nod once. She returns my gesture and asks Cali to watch over Gabby before spinning around and sprinting away. I follow closely behind her and Cam follows me, and we don't slow down until we're back in the centre of the main square, which is suddenly full of the sound of Zib desperately shouting her sister's name.

We search all of the places people have been using to shelter from the bombs, all of the crumbling remains of shops and houses leading off the square, but there's no sign of her. There's not much left to search now. It's as if the Capitolians were convinced Katniss was still here, and the pilots came with the orders to destroy every building just in case she was hiding inside.

"Maybe she'll come back when she's ready," suggests Baize when it becomes clear she's not anywhere in the square. The look he gets from Zib in return ensures he says nothing of the sort again.

The group of us search for hours, and to start with I spend half my time waiting for the warning sirens to sound and the hoverplanes to return. However a short time later I remembered that this morning's bombing took out the Communication Centre and that next time we will get no warning. Then I start looking up at the sky, not sure if I'm dreading the arrival of the latest wave of Capitolians or if I'm hoping to see Luce return to tell me the evacuation can begin.

* * *

><p>It's late in the morning and we're still searching when I see Lucan walking towards us along the street that leads from what's left of the tenement blocks, carrying Adie in his arms.<p>

"Get Zib," I say, speaking to anyone who's listening. "Quick."

Seconds later she's by my side, but she doesn't stay there for long.

"Adie!" she cries, and she sprints off down the road before the echo of her voice has even started to fade.

Lucan puts the girl down as soon as he sees Zib, and Adie stumbles down the road to meet her sister. Zib falls to her knees and I turn away, unable to look at them in their grief.

"Thank you," I say to Lucan as he slowly approaches and then stops beside me, his eyes never leaving my friend. "Where was she?"

"Where they used to live. Before all this happened, I mean. I asked around and it wasn't hard to find. Theirs is one of the few blocks still standing."

"How did you know to go there?" I ask, genuinely curious. We all thought Adie would have been too frightened to go as far away from everyone else as she did, and I'm surprised we were wrong.

"I was about her age when my mother died. All I remember was how I thought she'd still be there if I went home."

I don't quite know what to say to that, so I walk slowly towards Zib and Adie instead. I'm not surprised when he follows me.

"Come on, Zib," I say, draping a blanket over her shoulders. "You'll get sick if you stay out here in the cold. Both of you will."

She shrugs her shoulders, still not letting Adie go. I exchange looks with Cam and Lucan. Cam looks up at the sky. He's expecting the bombers to come back as well.

"Get up," says Lucan from behind me, his voice a low, growling command. "Who's going to bring the Capitol down if you get sick? You're the best shot we've got. Not even your Commander Paylor will deny that."

She looks up at that, her eyes quickly flashing to Lucan's but then settling on my face, suddenly grim and determined despite the tear stains on her cheeks.

"We have to get them back, Flax. For Ma."

"You can't do that from out here, Zib," I reply, following Lucan's lead and giving her the rebellion to focus on. "We need you. And Gabby wouldn't want you to give up. She believed in us."

She nods and rises to her feet, lifting Adie with her and stumbling slightly with her weight. Even at twelve, she's not all that far off being as tall as her big sister, and she's got a lot of growing left to do.

"I can't leave her in that horrible place," she says, looking almost pleadingly up at me. "I want to bury her in the proper cemetery. Next to my Da like she wanted."

As I told Boggs and the Mockingjay when they came, after the recent increase in bombings, I'd finally had to resort to having the dead buried together in one mass grave. The events of this morning will see it well on its way to being full when those of us left finally have chance to do what we must. People weren't happy about it but I had no choice. The guns must be manned, and we haven't got the people to spare for digging individual graves.

"I'm sorry, Zib," I reply, hating myself more with every word I speak. "But you can't. I can't give you special treatment because you're my friend, however much I want to."

"I know, but… Please, Flax. I know it's not like before, but please."

Adie's crying again now, responding to her sister's distress. I watch them both this time, making myself look at them even though it's tearing me apart inside. Even before I really understood what it meant to be a leader, I didn't want to be one. Now I know I have to make choices like this, I want it even less.

"We burn our dead in District Two," says Lucan quietly. "It's said that the smoke from the flames rises up and takes them somewhere far away to a better place. You could honour her that way. And then scatter her ashes on your father's grave."

"Why are you nice to me?" whispers Zib just as quietly, taking a step towards him but still not letting Adie go. "I've lost count of the number of times I've held a gun to your head."

He laughs lightly. "Maybe that's a sign of affection where I come from," he replies teasingly.

It's barely noticeable, but she smiles for the first time since Gabby died.

* * *

><p>Every instinct I had told me to forget everything else and follow Zib, but instead I hugged her, promised her I'd see her later and walked in the opposite direction before I could change my mind. I'd thought I'd be able to carry on and not think about her and poor Gabby, that the job of organising everyone and everything that survived the raid would distract me. I was wrong. I tried but I couldn't do it, and that's how I came to be sitting on the freezing cold and damp floor in the now roofless and flattened Communication Centre.<p>

"I think this still works," says Cali as she walks slowly towards me carrying a small black box. "It's one of the radios from the control room."

I look up at her but can't find words, so she sits down on the ground beside me and waits. I don't know what to do. Or I know what I have to do but I can't quite bring myself to do it. District Thirteen isn't that far away. I should have word from Lucet and Poplin soon. But when I do hear from them, I'm going to have to order the evacuation. The rational part of me knows we're merely joining forces with Thirteen, but the rest of me is screaming out that this is surrender.

"Or maybe not," continues Cali eventually, attempting to switch on the radio and getting nothing in return.

She flings it away angrily and shakes her head. It starts to rain but we both ignore it. There's nowhere to shelter now anyway. The Capitol have destroyed everything. I shuffle closer to Cali and rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes and hating myself because I almost wish the Capitolians would come back. At least fighting for my life would be a distraction.

* * *

><p>The next time I open my eyes, it's almost dark, and I only realise what woke me when I hear nearby footsteps and voices. I raise my head and that wakes Cali instantly.<p>

"Of course she's alive," shouts a voice, and I recognise Cam even though I can't see him. His angry tone tells me he's speaking about me to someone who's said something he doesn't like. I don't know why but I've never heard it when he's talking of anyone else. "Do you seriously think I-we'd let them kill her?"

"I need to speak to her then," replies a second voice.

"Where's Lucet? Where's Poplin?" asks Cam, still aggressively defensive in a way only he can be.

"It's Boggs," I whisper to Cali, pushing myself to my feet as quietly as I can, trying to stay in the shadows until I feel ready to face the man from Thirteen.

"I'm here," I snap eventually, walking forwards and suddenly finding half a dozen torches pointed in my direction. "Answer his question."

"Flax, I'm here," interrupts Luce as another small group of torch lights approaches. "We found out how bad the bombing was so we came back."

"It might have something to do with the appearance of a certain Mockingjay," I say harshly, glaring at Boggs. "Thanks for that."

"You can't stay here, Commander Paylor," he replies, pretending he didn't hear what I said. "You can't carry on as you are."

"I'm a free woman, Boggs," I retort. "I can do what I like."

He just raises his eyebrows, his face sinister in the torchlight, and says nothing. He knows the falseness of that statement as well as I do.

"I'll be back an hour before dawn with enough hovercrafts to transport everyone left in this city back to Thirteen. It's your choice."

He salutes crisply and immediately walks away, gathering the rest of the soldiers with a single sweep of his hand. They all troop back down the narrow road without a word. Only Luce remains behind.

* * *

><p>About half an hour later, I push my way through the rubble into what's left of our shelter at the back of the Justice Building. The only wall still standing is the one that bears our tally chart showing the number of hoverplanes we've brought down. Zib's still winning, and the sight of her name makes my eyes suddenly hot with tears.<p>

"Is Zibby with you?" asks a small voice from the pile of blankets in the corner, and I notice Adie curled up amongst them for the first time.

"I'm here," says my friend, walking past me and lowering herself down onto the blankets beside her sister before passing the girl the cup of water she carried. "Come here, Flax," she continues, holding her hand out to me. "You don't have to be Commander Paylor now. There's nobody here to see you."

"I've spent most of the day hiding as it is, Zib," I reply, but she just shakes her head, not lowering her hand until I take it.

She pulls me down next to her and Adie immediately climbs over her so she lies between us.

"You're too big and heavy for this, Adie," I tell her, not seriously expecting her to move.

She doesn't, but the look I get in return is far more apologetic than I'd expected.

"I'm sorry," she replies. "I can't help it. I don't want to get taller but I can't help it."

"How many times, you stupid girl?" says Zib, her soft tone a contrast to what would normally be harsh words. "There's nothing wrong with you the way you are. Is there, Flax?"

"Of course not," I reply immediately, not having to think about it as I abruptly realise the visual differences between her and most of the rest of us bother Adie a lot more than I'd previously thought.

"I want Ma," she says, curling back up against Zib and wrapping her arms tightly around her sister, scrunching her eyes up so she doesn't start crying again.

"So do I," replies Zib, not bothering to deny it.

* * *

><p>When Cam and Luce finally find us, they creep closer, trying not to disturb us. It makes no difference to me because I'm already awake, trying to decide what I should do.<p>

"I'm not asleep, Cam," I whisper, smiling when he sits down beside me, his shoulder tight against mine.

"Luce has been telling me about Thirteen," he says, and when I look ahead of myself, I can just about make out our friend in the near darkness.

"What's it like there? Where's Lin?"

"They've got her working in the armoury. Overseeing the preparation of the weapons for when we invade the Capitol," she replies. "You know what she's like. A few hours there and she's already got half of them following her instructions. She's happier there than she was here in a way."

"Good. I'm pleased it worked out how you wanted."

"It's fine there, Flax," she says. "Relatively anyway. They have food and space for people to sleep. And they're training people to fight. They tried to get me to join the Mockingjays."

"And yet you have no grey uniform…"

"I said I had to come back here first. But I thought you'd all want to fight as well."

"I do, Luce. I will," I tell her, knowing that's the one thing I _am _certain of. "But I told you before, I don't like the thought of leaving here. If we all clear out then the Capitol will think they've driven us away. They'll think they've beaten us."

"So what are you going to do?"

"What I said. Give people the choice. When Boggs comes back later, they can go to Thirteen or they can stay here. I agreed to do what Coin wanted and stay here to hold Eight until she's ready to invade the Capitol. Then I'm fighting and anyone who wants to come with me can."

Cam finds my hand in the darkness and squeezes it tightly in his. I lean against him, comforted to know he thinks I've made the right decision even as I turn almost fearfully towards Zib.

"I'll do anything as long as I get a shot at the Capitol," she replies fiercely.

That's it then. Just like that. Decided. Now I just have to wait for the hovercrafts to return.

* * *

><p>"It's going to kill me to send her away, Flax," Zib says, her eyes fixed on the group of people gathered ahead of us.<p>

An hour ago, I gathered as many of them together as I could and told them what Coin proposed. Some of them chose to leave, many more chose to stay, just like Cam said they would. It was a lot simpler than I thought it would be, but I guess it would be now. The source of the contention between myself and Coin was our wounded. Since the bombing of the hospital and the renewed attack yesterday morning, we don't have that issue anymore, at least not on the same scale.

When I think of them, of all those innocent people who died, I feel bitterness mixed with the pain. I still can't tell if I feel it for the Capitol or for District Thirteen. Maybe it's both.

"It's for the best that she goes with them," I reply, trying to smile encouragingly. I don't need to see the look on her face to know I've failed. "It's only for a short time. Until it's all over."

"Don't try to make me feel better when we both know the war could go on for years."

"She'll be safer there than she is here," I tell her, not wasting my time lying to her by contradicting what she said. "She'll be warm and dry and she won't be hungry."

"But she won't be with me and I won't be with her. I tried to talk to her, to explain, but she doesn't understand. Not really. And why should she? This time yesterday she was driving Ma to distraction talking about Katniss Everdeen. Now look at her."

I turn to look at Zib but the change in her expression makes me refocus ahead of us again. The hovercrafts are here, and the District Thirteen soldiers with them. I know I'm doing the right thing but it still doesn't make me feel any better, not even when most of them who are going are happy to go.

"I don't want to," cries Adie, detaching herself from the group and sprinting back to Zib as soon as the first hovercraft opens its door. "Don't make me go. I can shoot like you taught me. Please, Zibby, don't send me away."

"You're all I've got now, Adie," says my friend, holding her sister as tightly as she can. "I've got to keep you safe. Go with Nessa, Taffy and the others. I'll see you really soon."

The District Thirteen soldiers start ushering people onto the hovercrafts with their usual businesslike efficiency, neither hostile nor friendly, and we watch, with Zib and Adie clinging to each other right until it's Nessa's turn to go. Baize's wife shakes her head at the grey uniformed woman who beckons to her and looks expectantly at Zib.

"You can't take her to war with you, Zibeline," she calls.

"I love you, Adie. I love you so much. That's why we have to be apart for a while."

I step back to give them some space when Adie sits on the floor at Zib's feet, but I can't make myself look away when Zib kneels down beside her, looking across at the girl as she wipes her tears away.

"I'll bring you something back from the Capitol," she says, trying to smile.

"Take me with you."

"I can't."

"I stole this from Ma's room," Adie replies, ignoring that last refusal and reaching into her coat pocket. "I look at it when I feel sad or frightened."

"Then you should keep it," says Zib shakily, closing the girl's hand around something I can't see and pushing it back towards her.

"You need it more. In case you get scared when the planes come back."

"Commander Paylor, we can't stay out here like this for much longer," says a voice from behind me, and I spin around on my heel to see one of the soldiers waiting expectantly.

"Do I have your word that they'll be taken care of and treated as equals?" I reply, forcing myself to keep looking away from Zib and Adie.

"Don't you already have the word of President Coin?"

"Via Boggs, via you. If you can call that her word then yes, I do. But President Coin wasn't standing in front of me. You are. I'll see the lie in your eyes if it's there."

"Then you have my word," says the man, inclining his head once before backing away.

I step towards Adie and Zib. "It's time. They have to go. In case the bombers come back."

Adie's crying now, silent tears streaming down cheeks just a shade too dark for District Eight, but she jumps to her feet before Zib can speak again. She pushes whatever she'd been holding into her sister's coat pocket and races away onto the hovercraft without looking back.

Before I know it, both people and hovercrafts have vanished. Zib just stands there, staring unblinkingly at the spot where Adie had been.

"She thinks I don't want her. She thinks I sent her away because I don't want her."

"No, Zib, she doesn't. And you heard what Luce said. They're preparing weapons so they can invade the Capitol. We'll be going to Thirteen ourselves soon enough. You'll see Adie very soon."

I look over her shoulder at the small piece of paper in her hand, and immediately see it's a slightly battered and torn photograph of a much younger Gabardine and a boy that could just about be called a man who bears more than a little resemblance to my friend.

"Your father?"

She nods. "He was seventeen when he died, but Ma never stopped loving him. I want her back, Flax. And I want Adie back. Get her back for me and I'll keep her with me."

"Don't be stupid," I snap, my words sounding harsher than I expected because thinking of Adie in the middle of another bombing makes me think of Zib being left with no family at all. "She's too young to fight and you know it. And I heard what she said. You taught her to shoot?"

"War's cruel to the defenceless, Flax. If we lose then I'd sooner have her dead with a gun in her hand than alive and suffering what the Capitol would do to her."

I push her gently forwards, back towards the guns so we're ready for the bombers when they come back. There's nothing I can say to that when I know I believe the same. I'd say the same about anyone, that they're better off dying in the fighting than living under a Capitol that won this war.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thanks to those of you who sent words of encouragement last week - I'm still working to shake the writer's block I have with this and I haven't given up yet... <strong>_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I never thought I'd see the day, but it seems that this is it. A little over a week has passed since the destruction of the hospital and Gabardine's death. The rebels have finally taken control of all of the districts other than Two. From what the people coming out here from Thirteen have been saying, it won't be long now before the push to take the Capitol begins.

To that end, Coin has said that she wants everyone who is able to fight to spend however manyweeks needed in Thirteen completing basic training. At first I hadn't thought it would apply to us because we've been fighting for so long and have managed to teach ourselves enough to hold our district for well over a month with very little outside help, but apparently it does. The bombings have grown more and more infrequent as the Capitol government obviously decides to expend the energy of its army elsewhere in places of more strategic value than a derelict district in the middle of nowhere, and gradually over the weeks, more and more of my rebels have made the journey to Thirteen.

Now Coin has announced, via Boggs, of course, that the time has come for everyone still in Eight to be educated in the ways of the District Thirteen military machine so we're ready to do our bit when we take on the Capitol. Part of me wants to ignore her and stay here, and I know the others feel the same way. This is our district and we don't want to abandon it, but I'm also not the only one who will do a great many things if it means getting a shot at the Peacekeepers who made our lives a misery for so long.

However all of us leaving the district for Thirteen leaves me with one problem I can hardly bear to think about.

* * *

><p>It's almost starting to get light by the time I've finally found the courage to make myself walk the short distance to the crumbled building we're using as a temporary shelter for those recently wounded in the bombings. The massive tarpaulin we've used to create a roof has come loose, and it blows in the wind, snapping backwards and forwards in a way that makes it sound like a harsh voice shouting at me. Or maybe that voice exists only in my head as I replay Boggs' words over and over again in my mind.<p>

He arrived with his grey-uniformed minions on a cargo plane a couple of days ago, inspecting what's left of my district at the same time as helping me to lay traps for any Capitolians stupid enough to waste their time coming here after we're gone. It had been going to plan until he saw the small group of severely wounded rebels I've been sheltering just off what's left of the main square.

They won't survive the journey to Thirteen. That's what he told me, finally making me acknowledge a truth I'd been trying to bury at the back of my mind for almost as long as I've known about Coin's order for me to report directly to her in her Command Room. They won't survive the journey to Thirteen and if we try to move them then they'll be in unimaginable pain before they die.

My first response was that some of us could stay behind to nurse them, but as I'd looked around at those still with me, at Zib and Cam and Lucet, Cali, Baize and Lucan, I quickly realised I couldn't ask that of any of them. They've earned the right to fight in the Capitol, and the only way they'll get there is by complying with Coin's stupid command. We haven't got our own hovercraft, so we have to play along to get what we want. And I can't expect anyone else to return from Thirteen either. We're barely surviving here as it is. There's no clean water supply and barely any food other than what Thirteen provides. Nobody can live here now, and all that leaves me with only one alternative. It's one I can barely bring myself to think about.

"Flax! Flax, wait!"

Cam calls after me and I can hear his feet hitting the ground as he races to catch up, but I don't stop. It's only when he physically pulls me back that I finally have no choice but to pause and look up at him.

"I'll be back in a minute, Cam. Make sure everyone's waiting in the main square for the hovercrafts. Please."

"I'll do it, Flax," he whispers, his eyes as sad as I've ever seen them. "Let me do it for you."

"No," I reply, reaching up and gripping the front of his jacket just above his heart. "I started this. It has to be me."

"The Capitol started it," he says fiercely, not looking away from me for even one second. "And you can't bear all the pain of this by yourself."

"Go, Cam," I reply firmly, pushing him back and forcing myself to keep moving. "That's an order, Soldier Marshall."

"You don't command me, Flaxie," he retorts, but there's no humour in his voice as he slowly turns away.

I brush the tears from my cheeks as I watch him go, but it isn't long before I'm staring down at my hands because I can't look anymore. There are two lines of pale skin across my knuckles where my tears have washed some of the dirt away.

"You have to do this, Flax," I tell myself, adjusting the strap of my gun so it isn't rubbing against the wound that still hasn't healed and then walking forwards before I change my mind.

When I push through the heavy plastic curtain that reminds me so much of the warehouse hospital the bombers destroyed, I almost run back out again. There are about seven or eight of them, lying on pallets on the floor only a few feet apart. The young woman who'd been trying to keep them comfortable stares back at me with wide eyes. She knows why I'm here, and she's clearly as horrified as I am. She blinks once and then pushes past me, rushing off into the near darkness without looking back.

"You're going to Thirteen then, girl," sounds a soft voice from one of the pallet beds on the other side of the room.

A quick glance around the room tells me only one of them is conscious, and my heart sinks as I recognise the man who I'd found surrounded by his sons and grandsons on the road back to the main square when the uprising first started. I later recalled that his name is Argyle, and he's fought with the rebels like a man half his age ever since.

He always called me Commander Paylor with a half smile that made me think he was remembering the clumsy child he must once have known. But that was before he was caught in an explosion during one of the raids. Now he's here, waiting to die from injuries so bad that I doubt he could be healed even in Thirteen. Like a coward, I'd been hoping he'd be unconscious, that they'd all be unconscious so none of them would be aware of what I'm about to do. I should have known I'd never be that lucky.

"We're going to fight in the Capitol," I reply, trying to sound vaguely positive as I move closer and try not to think about how much this is reminding me of the night Grandpa died. "We're going to finish what we started."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"I… I… The hovercrafts aren't here yet."

"Do what you have to do and go," he says, his voice still quiet like each word is an effort. Just like Grandpa. He even looks like him in this light. "Just make sure you tell my boys that I took some of the enemy out before I went."

"You did. I saw you fight. If there was another way-"

"There isn't another way, Flaxie," he replies, clutching the gaping wound at his stomach as he fights the urge to cough. "That's what Hem always used to call you. I remember like it was yesterday. Flaxie. Every day I saw him at the factory, he'd be talking about you. My Flaxie read a whole chapter of that textbook she has today, he'd say. My Flaxie just finished her last day at school. My Flaxie stood up to the overseer in the factory yesterday, and she wasn't afraid one bit. He was always so proud of you. And I'll be sure to tell him all about who you've become when I see him. Now finish it. Quickly. Before I change my mind about being brave."

"I don't think-"

"Don't think. Just do it. Do it and then kick the Capitolians into next week for all those of us unlucky enough not to see them fall."

I slowly pull the gun from my belt, click the safety catch off and raise my arm.

"I'm so sorry," I stammer, my voice shaking as much as my hand with every word. "I-"

"Don't be sorry, Commander Paylor. Be proud. Be proud that you've done what we've all dreamed of for decades. Be free."

He sighs and closes his eyes, slowing his breathing and loosening his hands from the tight fists they were previously in. I raise the gun again, and I also close my eyes as I pull the trigger.

The shot rings in my ears for what feels like a lifetime.

* * *

><p>I have to do the same thing another six times, and by the time I reach the final pallet bed and do what I must, I can barely see through my tears and I'm shaking so much I can hardly stand. Giving up suddenly seems the only option, and I crumble to the floor as my legs buckle. I curl up in a tight ball and properly give in to my emotions for the first time since Grandpa died. I hadn't realised how much I'd bottled everything up until I'm crying and shaking so much that I suddenly feel like I can't breathe.<p>

Cam says nothing as he sits down on the ground beside me and pulls me into his arms. He unfastens the buckle on the strap that holds the gun I carry over my shoulder and it falls away, letting him pull me even closer. For once I don't even begin to think that I should be pushing him away.

"You've got about two minutes. Then they'll come looking for us. The Thirteens are here."

"I know," I reply, gasping for breath after crying so hard and pulling away from him just enough to look around at the pallet beds. "But how about them? I can't leave them."

"The District Two way, I think," he says, smiling sadly and kissing the top of my head. "They'd understand."

I nod once and look away, resting my head against his chest so I don't have to look into his eyes.

"Nobody should have to do what I just did, Cam. Maybe we should have just stayed here."

"We can't stay here," he replies, trying to push me to my feet and then giving up when I cling to the front of his jacket. "The water's bad and we can't put it right without Thirteen. And they want us with them so they won't do it."

"I know that," I snap, tapping my hand against him in frustration. "But it's like Zib said, we didn't do everything we did just so we can be enslaved again."

"They said we're only going there for training. Then we're going to the Capitol. You're our commander. You can lead us. We're working with Thirteen, not for them."

I reach up to rub my eyes and then stand up so I'm looking down at him. "They'll all see I've been crying," I say. "What's that going to look like to the Thirteens? How will they respect me when I look so weak?"

"Come with me," he says, getting up and leading me away from the cold stench of disease and death.

I watch as he tips a clear liquid that looks like what they used to power the machines in the factories with all over the makeshift hospital room, and when he sets it alight we both stand there and watch it burn. After a minute or two I turn to leave, but he holds me still, making sure we're both facing into the black smoke that billows all around us.

"Now we both look like the smoke's making our eyes red," he says, straightening my filthy, torn collar and pushing me ahead of him towards the main square.

* * *

><p>By the time we reach the top of the side road that heads into the square, I've pulled myself together and am ready to face our visitors, on the outside at least. I look up, and the first thing I see a grey District Thirteen hovercraft surrounded by grey uniformed District Thirteen soldiers. It makes me wonder if everything in District Thirteen is grey, but then I shake my head. It doesn't really matter. Everything in District Eight used to be grey as well, and now it's red with blood. If this is what I have to do before they'll let me fight in the Capitol then I'll do it.<p>

When she sees me, Zib breaks away from the group of soldiers and takes her now customary position on my left side. I'm no longer surprised by how much better I feel with her and Cam there, and when Baize, Darry, Lucan, Cali and the others fall in behind us, I know I can walk along with my head held high. I didn't want to be a commander but that's what I've become, and when I think about what we've done, what we've achieved, I'm proud of us all.

We approach the hovercraft together, and it completes its journey to the ground when we're only a few metres away, almost as though they're expecting more Capitolian bombers and don't want to risk landing until they absolutely have to. I resist the urge to tell them that our enemies have probably decided there's nothing left of my district to blow up.

"I am Soldier Jackson," says the woman who we see waiting once the door is lowered. I'd say she's about twenty years older than me and at first glance she looks tired, but when she narrows her grey eyes at me, I immediately revise my opinion. "I'm here to take you back to Thirteen for basic training."

"I really think we could move onto advanced now, you know," retorts Zib with a scowl. "I think we've had a few months training already."

Soldier Jackson ignores her and flourishes a piece of paper that seems to have a list of names written on the back.

"You must be Commander Paylor," she says, looking down at me expectantly.

"Yes," I reply, carefully meeting her eyes so I don't have to look at the smoke billowing up from Argyle's funeral pyre. "Now you're here shall we just go? If we stay here too long then we're asking for the Capitol to fly over and take a shot."

"But-" she starts, looking suspiciously at Lucan and narrowing her eyes even further when Zib steps back to stand by his side.

"I know you probably want to process or catalogue us or something, but I'm sure we can do that when we're in the air."

Eventually she nods and steps back, letting us all file up the ramp before giving a signal that has all of the other grey minions springing into action. I catch a glimpse of more of my rebels climbing into different hovercrafts, but before I know it, I'm inside and the door's closing behind me. We're in the air in seconds, and horrified though I am, I can't help respecting their efficiency.

"I need a list of names to match up with the list we have back at Thirteen," she says once we've all crammed into the small space.

I've never been in a hovercraft before and if this is what they're like then I don't think I'll be in a rush to repeat the experience. I collapse down onto the floor, sitting back to back with Cam so I don't have to lean against the wall of the craft, which seems to tremble and give off a low hum I can only hear now I'm so close. Zib quickly scoots around to lean against me, and when she rests her head on the front of my shoulder without a word, I dare to hope her fire is going to be as subdued as her posture.

I quickly reel off the name of every man and woman here with me without pause, moving through each subgroup systematically in my mind so I don't forget anyone. When Jackson's expression seems to turn to one of mild surprise, I laugh before I can stop myself. Even to my own ears, there's no humour in the sound.

"I've fought with these people since the end of the Quarter Quell. You saw what the Capitol's bombers have done to us, the conditions we've had to live in. If I didn't at least know their names then do you seriously think I'd be fit to call myself their commander?"

She nods her head in acknowledgement and says nothing further. We sit in virtual silence until a voice I assume must belong to the pilot crackles across the intercom, telling us we've arrived in Thirteen.

* * *

><p>We climb out of the hovercraft into a fenced area that looks in no better shape than the District Eight we just left. There are massive craters in the ground, and piles of rubble I assume used to be buildings scattered at various points all around.<p>

"You don't look any better off than us," says Cam, his eyes almost nervously scanning everything around us.

"The bombing started six days ago," offers Soldier Jackson eventually. "It was only the day before yesterday that we all got out of lockdown."

"Lockdown?"

"The top levels of the compound can't withstand the bombs, so everyone has to go further down and stay there."

I shudder at the thought. My only memories of being contained in a small space are of factory fires and frantically racing for the doors. I don't think I'm going to like Thirteen, and the sight of the heavily fortified metal door that can only lead downwards doesn't do anything to reassure me.

Then the door opens and a small group of soldiers emerge, blinking rapidly as their eyes adjust to the bright sun. I look up at the sky, trying to memorise the image because I suspect I won't be seeing it for a while.

"District Eight?" the nearest soldier asks, looking first at me and then at the group of rebels behind me.

I dread to think what we must look like to him. Bruised and bloodstained and filthy, no doubt. But I nod sharply and keep my head held high anyway. We've been fighting and dying for this war before the soldiers here even knew it had started, and it's pride I feel, not shame.

"This way, please," he continues. "I've orders to show you to your compartments. You'll start basic training in the morning."

"Basic training?" scoffs Zib as we walk further and further down a set of narrow stairs in almost darkness. "We've been fighting for months. Can't we just go to the Capitol already?"

If I didn't agree with her so completely, I'd tell her she's said that already and it hasn't got us anywhere but here. However as I'm thinking what she's thinking, I say nothing. The soldier who initially spoke to us says nothing either, and neither do any of his companions. We keep walking and walking until finally I see a square of light ahead.

"How far down are we?" whispers Cam, walking so close to me that our shoulders brush with every step we take.

"I don't know," I reply. "I dread to think."

The stairs abruptly end and I find myself in what I can only describe as an entranceway, a massive square room with lots of corridors and doors leading off it. There are people everywhere, all dressed in District Thirteen grey, although some wear what look like jumpsuits rather than the proper military uniform I'm used to seeing. There's a table in the middle of the room, with an elderly but very alert man sitting behind it, surrounded by papers and a couple of very old computers.

"Commander Paylor's presence has been requested in Command," says the man officiously. "The rest of you will wait your turn to be assigned your uniforms and compartments, then you will be given a short tour."

I look behind me to see most of the reception room is now full of my rebel soldiers, and the door to the stairway is held open by a young woman with a bandage over one eye. When I look beyond her, I can see that there are people still waiting on the stairs because there isn't room for them to come down.

"I am Commander Paylor," I say, stepping towards the table and wondering when my unwanted title stopped sounding quite so strange to me. "I-"

But then I'm interrupted by a shout and the further sound of racing footsteps. Someone races out from one of the side corridors, and it's only when that someone launches herself at Zib that I recognise her. Adie looks different in her grey jumpsuit, younger than she did in the ripped and torn clothes she wore back in Eight, especially with her long dark-blonde hair clean and loose down her back.

Zib clings to her half-sister like she's never going to let go, and it's only when the District Thirteen man sat at the table loudly clears his throat that she lifts her head from Adie's hair. The man looks pointedly at the strange patch of purple ink on his forearm, and it's only when he does that I notice how Adie has one as well.

"I will take Commander Paylor to Command," says a voice I recognise but can't immediately place, and I turn to see Eliza detach herself from a nearby group of soldiers and cautiously approach me.

"Very well, Soldier Edwards," says the man who still hasn't introduced himself. "Hurry up. President Coin will be waiting."

Eliza gives me a half smile and starts to walk towards a different corridor to the one Adie came from. I follow her, not at all surprised when first Cam follows me and then Zib, dragging Adie with her.

"Only Commander Paylor," calls the man just as we're about to disappear from sight.

"Not a chance," replies Cam immediately, pushing me down the corridor and following closely behind.

I wait for the soldiers to arrest us or something, but they don't and we keep walking.

"You'll both get yourself in trouble," I tell them. "And we've only been here five minutes."

"Every commander needs lieutenants," replies Cam, but the look in his eyes is nowhere near as even as his voice. Zib just laughs at us, as if she knows something we don't. Neither of them make any move to leave.

"This is Command," says Eliza eventually, stopping outside another heavily reinforced metal door which has several guards stationed outside it. "They won't let a child in there though," she continues, looking at Adie.

"I'm not a child," she snaps back immediately. "And I want to stay with you," she adds, gazing imploringly at Zib.

"Can she wait outside until we're done?" I ask, trying to compromise because I sense we'll be here forever otherwise.

"I'll wait with her," replies Eliza.

"See," I say to Adie as I gently pull her away from Zib. "We'll be back in a minute."

Then I step back and turn to face the door, taking a deep breath in a pointless attempt to stop my heart from racing and the butterflies that have suddenly appeared in my stomach from flying around in circles. Eliza knocks on the door and a harsh female voice shouts for her to come in.

"The party from District Eight have arrived, President Coin," says Eliza timidly, and as soon as she's finished her sentence, she salutes sharply and backs away, closing the door softly behind herself.

I watch Eliza leave and then refocus my attention on the room. There are screens everywhere, maps with flashing lights covering them, and a small group of people gathered around a massive table in the middle. I don't need them to say anything for me to work out that something's going on. The tension in the room is almost visible. I suddenly don't know if I want to question them or run away and hide.

The woman who sits at the head of the table looks to be in her fifties, and every aspect of her physical appearance seems as precise and militaristic as the district she rules. Her perfectly straight and uniform dark-grey hair barely moves when she turns her head, and her eyes are cold, grey like the sky back home in winter and so piercing that they seem to look right through me. She must be Coin. I can tell without her having to introduce herself.

"Commander Paylor, I assume," she says. "I am President Alma Coin."

"You wanted to see me?" I reply, nodding politely because I don't really know what to say. I've never met a president before. Before the uprising, I'd never have dreamt there was one other than Snow.

"Yes, I did want to see _you_," she says, looking pointedly at Zib and Cam, who are standing behind me like a pair of bodyguards. "But your companions…"

"Soldier Pershing and Soldier Marshall," answers Boggs when his president turns her questioning gaze on him. "They have also played key roles in maintaining the resistance in Eight."

I risk a glance at Zib when he says that, and I can see the surprise on her face even though she's trying to hide it. The only thing Boggs has previously looked at her with is barely concealed disapproval, and she looks slightly smug now he's changed his tune in front of President Coin.

"Pershing?" replies Coin, narrowing her eyes slightly. "As in…"

"Yes," says Boggs. "The girl you're remembering is Soldier Pershing's sister. Adelaide tried to start basic training when she arrived here," he continues when I raise my eyebrows. "She is a very…determined young lady."

"She is," I reply, noticing that while Cam looks horrified by the thought of Adie trying to join the Mockingjays, Zib just looks proud.

"This," says Coin, interrupting and pointing to the giant map behind her. "Is the state of the country even as we speak. The red shows the Capitol forces and the black shows ours."

"Ours?" I reply doubtfully, thinking 'yours' might be more accurate but not quite daring to say it.

"You mean 'yours'," says Zib immediately, having no such qualms as usual.

I step back, deliberately standing on her foot and hoping she'll take the hint.

"Ours," repeats Coin, scowling slightly at my friend. "While nobody can question that you have been more successful at holding your district than we could ever have dreamed, you can't fight this war on your own. You are here now because if you're going to be part of the assault on the Capitol when the time comes then you're going to need more knowledge of weaponry than what you've taught yourselves."

She looks like she'd been intending to continue her lecture, but there's another knock on the door that stops her in her tracks. Coin calls out permission for the person to enter and the door swings open to reveal another person in District Thirteen military uniform.

"The girl's awake," he says, and the president immediately gets up and draws him towards the far corner of the room.

A large, strangely familiar man gets up to join them, and it's only when he looks back at me as he goes that I place his face. Plutarch Heavensbee. The former Head Gamemaker. Everything Lucan told me was true. Unlikely though it is, he really is a major part of the rebellion.

"Do you think they mean Katniss?" whispers Cam as we watch the small group in the corner, not knowing if we're meant to stay or go.

"They do," answers another man who'd been sitting at the table. "She was doing some recording for more propos yesterday and she had some kind of panic attack. She's been sedated in the hospital ever since."

"Propos?"

"Propaganda spots. The short films they've been broadcasting to gain support for the revolution," answers the man, running a hand over his tightly curled black hair that's a tiny bit speckled with grey. "I remember seeing you in the first one. All of you," he adds, looking over my shoulders to Cam and Zib. "My name's Dalton. Originally of Ten until a few years ago."

"How did you get here?"

"I snuck away and kept walking. I was lucky and the Capitol didn't catch me."

"Flax," I reply, extending my hand towards him. "This is Cambric and Zibeline."

"You're here because you're going to fight in the invasion," he says, not phrasing his sentence like a question. "_Commander Paylor_."

"That's right," I reply, shocked by the strength of my conviction. "I think we're all out for a bit of justice and revenge."

"I know the bombing was bad in Eight. You've been through a lot. They've decided there's a place for you on this council because of what you did."

I look around the room, stunned to think that these people, the presidents and Head Gamemakers who wouldn't even have considered me human if we'd met when I was still living my previous life back home, might want me on what I can only describe as their war council. Eventually my eyes meet those of another woman, whose cheeks are inlaid with silver flowers and is clearly Capitol even without the other make-up and garish clothes, and she turns to Dalton.

"It's not your place to be saying things like that."

"Well everyone else seems a bit preoccupied right now, Fulvia," replies the man from Ten. "And I'm sure Commander Paylor wants to rest."

"I want you to tell me what's going on," I say. "And don't say there's nothing going on because I can tell something's wrong."

"When the Quell ended, we got Katniss, Beetee and Finnick out," answers Heavensbee as he returns to the table and sits back down. "Peeta Mellark and Johanna Mason weren't so lucky. There's a rescue party going to the Capitol tonight."

"How's that going to work?" I say sceptically, pulling a chair from under the table and sitting opposite Heavensbee without even thinking about it. "You can't just fly into the City Circle. They'll know you're there before you do."

"We need the boy," replies the woman who Dalton had called Fulvia. "The Mockingjay won't perform when they're using him against her."

I sit silently for a minute, scanning the huge map behind the rebel Capitolians until I find District Eight. It's all in black, and the sight of it makes me smile despite how I know there's not much left of it anymore.

"Can't you attack somewhere else as well?" I say eventually, turning my attention to the Capitol, which is a block of blood red on the map. "At the same time so they're distracted and not paying attention to the real mission."

Heavensbee looks thoughtful as I continue to explain, and even though Coin returns to her position at the head of the table, she listens carefully and doesn't speak for several minutes.

"A diversion?" she says finally, also turning to look at the map. "But where? It's difficult enough getting one group of soldiers that close to the Capitol, but two… It's out of the question, for now at least. And nothing less would be enough."

"But the idea's good," says Heavensbee. "We need something."

"What about Everdeen?" suggests one of Coin's grey-uniformed minions, a woman a little younger than the president who has dark hair instead of grey. "Distract the Capitol with more broadcasts. Perhaps it'll be enough."

"I've got something that might work," says the former Head Gamemaker, already standing up and looking at the door. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Commander Paylor."

He bows that strange bow I've seen countless times on the Capitolian television broadcasts over the years, and then he's gone. I stare after him, intrigued by the man who held one of the most powerful positions in Panem and yet still went on to defy his president. However another president soon draws my attention back to her when her voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife.

"We will speak again," she says to me. "But for now you should go and prepare to start your training tomorrow. Soldier Edwards will help you find uniform and show you to your compartments. She'll explain what you need to know about living here."

I know a dismissal when I hear one, and she's barely finished speaking when she turns back to the papers on the table, all thoughts of me and the rest of the District Eight rebels long forgotten. Cam rests a hand on my shoulder and I slowly stand up, carefully pushing the chair back under the table where I found it.

"You'll get used to it soon enough," says Dalton kindly, and I nod to him before following Cam and Zib from the room.

A voice in the back of my mind tells me that I'm not sure I want to get used to it, that I'd rather be left alone to rebuild a better District Eight and not have to think about the Mockingjays, District Thirteen or the Capitol at all. But that's not going to happen until we've won the war, and to do that, I have to be here. At least the command meetings don't seem so bad. Coin gives me the creeps in person as much as she ever did over the radio, and I can't escape the fact I'm convinced she's more concerned with taking power herself than she is with creating a free Panem, but the others seem to listen to me, even Plutarch Heavensbee. That means I've got a chance to make things better for what's left of my district, so it's not all bad.

"I'm proud of you, Flax," says Cam as he closes the door behind us and we watch Adie reattach herself to Zib like she's never going to let go.

"What do you mean?"

"The way you sat down at the table in there and came up with that idea. Even Coin listened to you."

"I didn't think about it," I reply truthfully. "I just said what I was thinking."

"It was good," he says, smiling softly.

I smile back and then look across at Eliza. "President Coin mentioned uniforms and compartments."

"You'll have to be tattooed like me now," interrupts Adie, pulling her sleeve back to give me a better view of the purple ink on her forearm that I'd noticed before.

When I get close enough, I can see it consists of lines and lines of small writing, with a time and a place denoting virtually every hour of the day.

"You put your arm in this thing on the wall and it prints your timetable on your skin," she says, laughing at the horror on her sister's face.

"No way," says Zib. "I didn't rebel against one dictatorship only to be absorbed into another one."

Eliza looks horrified, though whether that's because of what Zib said or because she said it aloud, I'm not sure, however I find myself agreeing with my friend. It was bad enough when I was working in the factories and living in a District Eight controlled by the Capitol, but they stopped short of tattooing our schedules onto our bodies.

"They wash off at the end of the day," says Eliza, trying to sound bright and cheerful. "It's just a way of reminding you where you have to be."

I can't help thinking she's missing the point entirely, but I knew there would be things about this place I didn't like and I'm sure this is just one of many we'll have to get used to.

"Drop it, Zib," I say. "You don't have to do what it says unless I tell you to."

"You're not the boss of me, Flaxie Paylor," she retorts, but she links her arm that isn't wrapped around Adie through mine and lets me lead her down the corridor after Eliza anyway.

Our guide shows us a massive hall she calls The Collective, which to me looks big enough to hold the entire population of District Eight before the uprising and still leave room to spare, and a corridor that apparently leads to where we'll have to report for training in the morning, before finally stopping at another set of massive metal doors.

I can hear the buzzing noise of many people talking at once as soon as she starts to open it. I look inside and get only a quick glimpse of a dimly lit room full of shelves, which all seem to hold row upon row of boots and piles of grey fabric, before I'm suddenly surrounded. It seems that every rebel who fought with me back home is crammed into this one room, and every single one of them wants to ask me a question.

"Are we going to fight, Commander Paylor?"

"Did you meet President Coin?"

"Are we invading the Capitol? Is that why we're getting military uniform?"

"You're getting military uniform because basic training starts tomorrow, Baize," I reply, seizing on the last audible question and thinking it's as good a place to start as any. "I told you that before we left home. We'll train and then we'll fight when it's time to. I don't know when that'll be yet."

A District Thirteen woman looks me up and down and passes me a pile of fabric and some boots, but then she looks more closely and whips them from my hands before I've got a proper hold on them. She walks to a different shelf and takes another pile down. When she passes them to me, I notice they're a shade darker than the others and they've got a white stripe around one of the sleeves.

"Sorry, Commander," she says, saluting sharply and then quickly moving onto the next person.

I look back towards the door, abruptly only able to think of escaping to somewhere a little less intense and crowded, but Cam quickly moves to block my way. When Cali does the same, I have a feeling I know where this is going to lead and my heart sinks.

"I just need to sleep," I tell them. "Whatever you're thinking, let it wait until later."

"Now, Flax," says Cali, grasping my arm and pulling me towards the door.

"You'll be no good to anyone if you die of blood poisoning," says Cam, following closely behind me so I can't refuse to move.

He rests his hand on the small of my back and propels me forwards after Cali, who already seems to have found one of the Thirteens to show her where she wants to go.

"If this is about my shoulder then a few more hours won't kill me, Cam," I tell him, trying to sound commanding and failing to sound like anyone other than the Flax he's known all his life. "I'm cold and I'm tired and I don't want people messing with me right now."

"It's for your own good," he says, ignoring my protests and half carrying me down the corridor when I slow down too much.

* * *

><p>The hospital in District Thirteen is everything that Warehouse Two wasn't. It's clean and organised, and though they don't seem to exactly have an excess of medicine and supplies, I could see as soon as I arrived that many of the patients were connected to drips and that they all had clean linen on their beds.<p>

The white-uniformed woman who Cali persuaded to look at my shoulder had blonde hair and blue eyes, totally unlike anyone else I'd seen in Thirteen, but I didn't dare ask her anything about herself. She took one look at my wound and said she wouldn't do a thing until I'd washed the layers of dirt and blood off my skin and changed what she called my filthy clothes.

She'd pointed in the direction of a bathroom, told Cali to help me and ordered Cam to wait outside, before quickly bustling away to treat someone else. I was tempted to tell her that my clothes are filthy because I've been too busy trying to shoot Capitolian hoverplanes out of the sky to worry about anything else, but my words die before they leave my lips. I've had a hard time, but there's something about the look in her eyes that tells me that I'm not the only one.

Now I'm waiting for her to return, sitting on a hard-backed wooden chair in a grey jumpsuit that's so light compared to the clothes I'd been fighting in that I feel almost naked. My hair's almost dry now, and I'm so used to it being tied up out of the way that it feels strange to be pushing it behind my ears again. I look into the mirror ahead of me, and it's only now I can compare myself to the still-unwashed Cam and Cali that I realise how wild we must have looked when we arrived here. No wonder all the Thirteens were staring at us then and are still staring now.

"You'll need to come here every evening to have this dressing changed," says the medic as she stops beside me and pulls the collar of my jumpsuit out of the way. "This is antibiotics," she continues, stabbing a needle into my upper arm without any warning. "It's already infected so you might need another shot later."

"I can't wait," I reply, before quickly biting my lip so I don't cry out in pain as she rubs some ointment into the wound and quickly secures a pure white dressing over it.

She squeezes my other shoulder in the first gentle gesture she's made since I got here, pulls my collar back into place and then moves onto her next patient. I feel a bit like I've been run over by a truck, but that might not just be because of the hospital.

* * *

><p>"Dinner is at seven," says yet another cog in the District Thirteen machine as she leads me and the remainder of my rebels who haven't already reached their assigned compartments down yet another cold, grey corridor. "You won't be given schedules until tomorrow so you have time to rest."<p>

"Who says I'm getting a schedule tomorrow?" whispers Zib under her breath, scowling mutinously at the woman despite how she looks about ready to collapse with exhaustion.

Adie laughs and I glare at both of them until they fall silent. We keep walking down the corridor, passing many identical doors as we go. I notice they have numbers, and small cards on the wall to say whose is whose. I recognise so many familiar names and once again I'm shocked by the efficiency of this place. We've only been here for a few hours, and yet they've already organised our accommodation with their usual military precision.

"I will leave you to settle in," says our latest guide. "Commander Paylor, you've been assigned your own room down on the next level."

"It's fine," I reply immediately. "I don't need my own room. I'll stay with Zib and Adie."

The woman looks curiously back at me, making me sure that no District Thirteen commander has ever refused such special privileges, but I meet her gaze steadily. When I think of being alone, I think of that night I spent huddled in Grandpa's armchair just before the uprising. I've barely spent a moment of my time since without someone else with me or nearby, and I'm shocked to find the thought scares me as much as the Capitolian hoverplanes ever did.

"Of course you will," says Zib, grabbing the sleeve of my jumpsuit and pulling me towards one of the compartment doors. "Nobody can say our Commander Paylor demands special treatment."

"Yes, Commander," says the woman from Thirteen, still looking slightly overawed by the whole situation as she salutes. "Don't forget dinner at seven."

"We won't," replies Cam, and I can tell by the expression on his face that he's wishing he could eat dinner right now instead.

He smiles and disappears into the compartment opposite mine. He's sharing with Lucan, and I can't help thinking that they'll either end up being the best of friends or killing each other by the time we travel to the Capitol. I wouldn't like to guess which.

"Look," says Zib as soon as I step inside our clinically white room. "Real beds. Do you remember real beds, Flax?"

She starts to approach one of them, but I reach out to stop her.

"The bathroom's that way, Zib," I tell her, trying not to laugh.

"That's not fair. You'll be asleep quicker than me," she whines, but she heads off through the concertina door that separates the small bathroom from the rest of the space we've been given to call ours anyway.

I pull back the covers on one bed and practically crawl into it. Now that I've finally stopped, I don't know how I've kept going for so long. I've never been so tired, and I'm sure I could sleep for a week if Coin would let me. I have a feeling she wouldn't.

"Adie, there's another bed over there," I groan, as habit learnt during all the weeks of bombings makes me alert again as she climbs into the bed next to me and curls up close.

She says nothing and I don't have the strength to protest, especially when her warmth draws me back towards sleep straight away.

* * *

><p><strong><em>This was my last finished chapter, so if you're still reading then please tell me. I'm getting the impression I've taken my love of minor characters that haven't been written before a little too far...<em>**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

It's the sound of the door opening that finally wakes me, and the first thing I notice when I open my eyes is that all of the lights have automatically switched themselves on in the compartment. I guess there's no sleeping in when you're in Thirteen. I scowl at the thought as I look across at Cam, who stands in the doorway, smiling and shaking his head with mock disapproval.

"You missed dinner," he says, still smiling. "It's time for breakfast."

"What?" I reply, starting to sit up only to find my movement restricted by Zib, who is fast asleep on the other side of Adie with her arm over her sister and her hand clenched in a tight fist around the collar of my jumpsuit. "Somebody should have woken me."

"None of the rest of us went to dinner either," he replies, crossing over to the bed and shaking Zib awake. "We all slept in. Even Cali," he adds, smiling again.

Zib sits up and turns around at the same time, her slight movement almost tipping her off the edge of the small bed that really wasn't made to hold three.

"I've never slept on my own before. And that other bed looked cold," she says by way of explanation, brushing Adie's hair back off her face and laughing when the girl sleepily tells her to give her another two minutes. "Not today, Sunshine," she continues, sliding out of bed and dragging the rest of us with her. "Every day that passes is a day closer to the day I get a shot at the Capitol. So let's go. The sooner we start, the sooner we're out of here. This place gives me the creeps anyway."

I laugh, but that doesn't mean I disagree with her. It's true what she says. There's something about being stuck underground, something about the grey uniforms and the almost humourless way that everyone lives their lives here. I don't like it any more than Zib does, and I'm with her when she says that the sooner we complete our training, the sooner we'll be able to leave. Horrific though it is, I'd rather be fighting than living in a confined space under someone else's rules. I've spent far too much of my life doing that already.

Cam holds the door open for us, and we file out into the corridor. I'm immediately surrounded by lots of familiar faces. It seems they've put all of us from District Eight together, and there are people everywhere. They all look at me, the expressions on their faces as unchanged as their surroundings are different.

"You have to put your arm in here," says Adie, putting her hand into a strange contraption that's mounted on the wall. "It'll tell you what you're meant to be doing."

She takes her hand away a short time later, and the pale skin of the inside of her forearm is now imprinted with a purple ink schedule.

"I hate school," she says sulkily as she reads what it says. "They keep telling me I'm too young to fight, but I'm not. I know I'm not."

"Don't be in such a rush to grow up, Adie," replies Cali as she follows the girl's lead and receives her own tattoo. "We should be having breakfast. We're meant to start training at half past seven and it's quarter past now."

I nod and lead them down the corridor. We've been going without for too long to say no to breakfast. However when we reach the dining room, we all get a shock. I'd been thinking we'd grab something from there and eat it on the way like we used to back in Eight, but the soldiers on the door won't let us leave with so much as a crust of bread. Even though they explain the rule was created because people used to try and hoard food, it doesn't make much sense to me now, especially when I'm so hungry and don't have time to eat.

"They'll just have to wait for us to finish then, won't they?" snaps Zib as she sits down at the nearest table after collecting a small bowl of grain.

"I'm sure they will," replies Lucan amusedly. "I doubt even Coin herself would dare to come between you and breakfast."

"I need my strength for when I'm going to kick your backside in training."

"I look forward to it," he answers with a smirk, breaking a piece of bread from his slice, flicking it across at her and then laughing when she catches it and eats it.

"Children, please," I intone warningly, noticing the disapproving looks we're getting.

They both ignore me, so I get my own bowl of grain and sit beside Zib without interfering. It's good to see her smile anyway. A couple of seconds later, Cam sits beside me. His bowl of grain is bigger, but he soon spoons extra into mine, glancing surreptitiously around the room to check no one's looking.

"No, Cam," I hiss. "I've got enough."

"Shut up and eat your breakfast, Commander Paylor. Or the Food Police will get us."

Zib laughs and I glare at her, but I take Cam's advice and keep eating. The clock on the wall says half-past seven and we're nowhere near the training room yet.

* * *

><p>When we finally get to where we're meant to be, we're met by a man so fierce-looking that he makes Boggs appear friendly. He must be at least sixty, but he seems to still be as strong and fit as he would have been in his twenties. If I hadn't seen as much of this war as I have, then I'm sure I'd think twice about arguing with him. As it is, I find myself almost hoping for a confrontation because it would involve witnessing the rarity that is a District Thirteen soldier showing some kind of strong emotion.<p>

"You're late," he barks. "All of you. Are you so stupid in District Eight that you can't read or tell the time?"

"Who are you calling stupid?" snaps Zib, aggressively taking a pace out of line towards him despite how there's at least a foot and a half height difference between them and she's unarmed. It's Lucan who holds her back, and I'm not the only one who notices.

"We only got here yesterday," I say, meeting the man's gaze evenly. "You people didn't exactly provide us with a map."

"And you are?" he replies, glaring down at me with cold grey eyes that remind me of Coin's.

"Shouldn't you introduce yourself first?" I reply flatly, deliberately not answering him properly because I can feel everyone's eyes on me, waiting to see how I react to what I guess they think is a challenge to the authority I didn't want but now partly can't imagine living without.

He says nothing and narrows his eyes even further, walking towards me until there's only a few short inches between us. I refuse to back down. Everyone's watching me, everyone who's fought with me and for me back in Eight. I don't know exactly why, but suddenly all I can think is that I don't want them to see me submit to anyone else's authority.

"I asked you a question," I repeat, still not even allowing myself to blink. "Last time I checked, we weren't enemies. Unless you'd rather dye your hair a funny colour and wear white, of course."

The man who hasn't given his name stares back at me for what feels like all eternity, but then he laughs. I think it's the first time I've heard a District Thirteen soldier laugh.

"I'm Soldier Johnson, and I'll be supervising you during the start of your training," he says, shaking his head slightly. "And you're Paylor, aren't you? You've got to be Paylor."

"Why do you say it like that?" I reply, nodding my head once to answer his question.

"The way you held out against the bombing for so long really pissed the Capitol off. We used to hear them talking about you sometimes when we managed to hack their radio signal. There's a price on your head. You're worth more than any other district commander since they aired that first propo."

"How do they know who I am?"

"How in Panem do I know?" he retorts grouchily. "Just because we're fighting back, it doesn't mean they don't know all the things about us that they used to know before."

Something about the way he says that makes me think he wasn't from Thirteen originally. He might have eyes like Coin, but there's something in his mannerisms that doesn't quite fit the District Thirteen mould. He talks like someone who's lived under the direct control of the Capitol before. Given the way he greeted us, my first thought was District Two, but now I'm not so sure. But I can see him waiting for my response so I guess it isn't the time for interrogation.

"I'm honoured anyway," I retort with a grin. "Did you hear that?" I call back to the group behind me. "There's a price on my head!"

"How much?" replies Baize, shouting over their cheers. "Nessa's fed up of District Thirteen grey so I might turn you in if the price is right!"

"Nessa would find herself wearing a widow's black if you tried," growls Cam, only half teasing.

"Relax and take a joke, Marshall," replies Baize immediately. "We'd all die first and you know it."

"When you've quite finished your show of loyalty," interrupts Johnson. "You're here to train, not to worship at the altar of Commander Paylor. Move! All of you!"

"Even me?" I ask, unable to resist pushing my luck even as I begin to follow the others, knowing what his answer will be.

"President Coin wants you all to pass basic training," he replies flatly. "And that includes you. But I wouldn't worry. Rumour has it that you made quite an impression yesterday. Command will come calling soon enough."

"What happened? With the raid on the Capitol, I mean," I ask, for some reason feeling a little bit guilty that I slept right through it.

"Nobody who wasn't there really knows. But they got them out. Mellark and Mason. Poor girl. They brought them up to the hospital in the early hours of the morning and nobody's seen them since."

"What about Moreno?"

Johnson shakes his head. "They didn't find her. She probably wasn't there. Nobody knows whose side that one's on."

* * *

><p>As it turns out, I hear a lot more speculation about Enobaria Moreno's allegiance in the hours that follow. I only got through about two kilometres of what Soldier Johnson optimistically was hoping would be an eight kilometre run before a messenger came to call me to a meeting in Command.<p>

Within minutes I found myself sliding into a chair at the glass table, making every attempt to sit as far from President Coin as possible. Heavensbee asked me how I was settling in with a look in his eyes that made me think he already knew, but Coin said nothing, barely glancing at me before continuing her discussion of Peeta Mellark's mental state. They're saying he's been hijacked, but as I don't really know what that means, it's only when talk turns to the problem of District Two that I start paying attention again.

"You should speak to Lucan Domani," I suggest eventually, when they've gone around in circles so many times that I'm starting to feel dizzy. "He was born there and then he was stationed there too. He can tell you all you need to know about the layout without you having to smuggle a map out," I continue, wondering why they didn't ask him when they brought him here for questioning.

"Lucan Domani is lucky to be alive. He can't be trusted," says Coin instantly. "He's spent most of his life in the Peacekeepers."

"And yet you trust Mr Heavensbee," I retort. "Surely he's spent virtually his entire life as a Capitolian citizen and not a small proportion of it running the Hunger Games."

She scowls but doesn't reply directly to me, and discussion soon starts up again as people suggest new ideas for taking control of Two. However by the time we're finally ready to end the meeting, I can't help noticing how they're now planning to take Lucan out of training tomorrow so they can send him to Special Defence. I catch Dalton's eye as Coin dictates that particular direction to her nearest lackey, and we both shake our heads resignedly. It seems they'll treat us as equals, but only up to a point that suits them.

* * *

><p>After finally escaping from Command, I return to the firing range immediately despite being told I don't have to. A few hours of talking about bombing and death with a group of people that includes many who remind me of the dictators I've grown up both loathing and fearing has made me want nothing more than the company of my friends.<p>

"Where in Panem did you get those from?" I ask incredulously as Baize approaches, holding up some photographs and newspaper cuttings for us all to see.

"Taffy found them. I didn't ask," he replies as he gazes intently at the plain red targets ahead of us. "But I figured we could make target practice a little more enjoyable."

We all watch, even Soldier Johnson, as Baize attaches photographs of President Snow, many of the Gamemakers and other various members of the Capitol government onto the targets. When he turns back, he's looking at me for permission rather than at the soldier from District Thirteen.

"First prize goes to the person who shoots Snow between the eyes," I shout so they can all hear me, struggling to stop myself from raising my gun and giving it a try.

As soon as Baize has moved out of the way, a single gunshot rings out across the carefully enclosed space. I spin around instantly to see Lucan staring at the targets, and he doesn't lower his arm until he knows everyone has seen the hole in the picture of the fierce, cold-looking woman to Snow's right. The tension in the atmosphere is suddenly almost visible, and when I see the expression on Lucan's face, I wonder what terrible history he has with Prisca Oakhurst.

However I assume that Zib already knows, because I recognise the concern in her eyes despite her typically teasingly confrontational words.

"Show off," she snaps, stepping forwards and raising her own gun. "But I'm better."

"Now who's showing off, Soldier Pershing," Lucan replies, his expression abruptly less fearsome. "Time to put your money where your mouth is, I think."

"Three shots each," says Soldier Johnson, seemingly enjoying himself so much that I have to resist the temptation to ask if we're more fun than the average District Thirteen new recruits. "Whoever gets our esteemed leader between the eyes the most times wins. And then perhaps we can get on with proper training."

When I hear him say that, I resolve not to leave here without asking him about where he really came from. He calls President Snow our leader, and that confirms to me straight away that he wasn't born in Thirteen.

Lucan goes first, shooting three bullets and hitting his mark twice, but when Zib follows him, all three of her bullets hit the centre of President Snow's forehead with deadly accuracy that surprises even me. All the rest of them cheer, calling for District Eight and laughing when Lucan mockingly bows down to Zib, but I can't laugh when I see the expression on my friend's face. She's trying to hide it, but the hand holding her gun is trembling, and I can see her fighting back her tears.

"That'll do!" I shout. "Back to work! All of you!"

"How do you shoot like that?" I ask Zib, pulling her to one side as the air is suddenly full of the noise of gunfire.

"Aim for the middle," she replies, smiling wanly. "It helps if the target's Snow's head."

* * *

><p>I'd been relieved after the end of the first day of training. I'd fallen into the small, not entirely comfortable bed beside Zib and Adie a few minutes before Thirteen's universal bedtime, thinking that it could have gone a lot worse. However when Cam and I approach the training compound the following morning, the sound of raised voices tells me it isn't going to be the same this time.<p>

It takes a lot of willpower to stop myself from sprinting the rest of the way, but I manage it, covering the distance as quickly as I can while remaining at a walk. I've seen the likes of Boggs deal with conflict amongst the soldiers many times. They always stay calm, and they shout but they never run.

I approach the group on the training field, and what I see would make me laugh if the circumstances were different. If we weren't meant to be fighting the Capitol rather than each other then this would be funny.

My rebels are on one side of the compound and the Thirteens we're meant to start training with now we've had our induction are on the other. They're facing each other like they're waiting for someone to sound the attack, and even as I watch, one of the soldiers steps forwards.

I recognise Zib instantly, and I'm not surprised she's in the middle of it. The District Thirteen soldier steps towards her only for Lucan to shove him back into the rest of his group. I can see the rage and fury etched into every inch of him even from over here, and I find it hard to imagine an eighteen-year-old capable of beating him to that place on the tribute train for the Fifty-seventh Hunger Games.

Zib begins to round on Lucan, the echo of her voice reaching me as she tells him she doesn't need defending, but then she thinks better of it and turns on the other man instead. I can see the woman who is meant to be in control, but she's standing a short distance away, and it's immediately obvious that all the military training this place could offer was never going to be enough.

"Go on then, Flaxie," whispers Cam. "Do your Commander Paylor bit. You know you want to."

I glare viciously up at him for a second, but then I stride away. He's right, I do want to. I didn't want to command but it's part of me now. It isn't in me to walk away or to leave something like this for another to sort out.

"Silence!" I shout, screaming at the top of my voice because it's the only way to make myself heard over the noise everyone else is making.

They all stop dead, the Thirteens because that's the response that's been drilled into them for as long as they've been alive and my lot because they recognise my voice instantly.

"The Capitol would be laughing if they could see you all right now!" I continue, struggling to remain serious and not to laugh at the shocked expressions on their faces. "Don't you think this is just what Snow would want? How are you going to fight the Peacekeepers if you're too busy fighting each other?"

Nobody speaks, but a lot of them are looking at the floor and shuffling like children being told off by a particularly strict teacher. I narrow my eyes at Zib because she's one of the few who can meet my gaze, but she doesn't say anything either. The grief she feels for Gabby is almost visible, and when I look at her, I know I couldn't make myself angry with her if I tried.

"We're all on the same side here," I say speaking softly so they're straining to hear me on the basis that if they're struggling to listen then they're not thinking about fighting each other. "We're doing this because we're at war. So get on with it so we can fight who we're meant to be fighting. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Commander Paylor," they all echo back, and when I wave them away with a jerk of my hand, most of them head off on their run.

"What happened?" I ask, not having to look around to know that Zib hasn't moved.

"That Thirteen was holding court when we arrived," answers Lucan before my friend can speak. "Going on about how most of the other districts haven't been through that much and that they should be grateful they're being taken in."

"Oh," I reply, thinking I should say something more eloquent but somehow not finding the words. "I understand, Zib," I continue eventually. "I'd probably have belted him as well. But we have to work with these people or we can't go to fight. You know that as well as I do."

She nods reluctantly, as if she knows but doesn't much like it. "Do we have to run?"

"Unfortunately," I reply, liking the idea about as much as she does.

Nothing we did in back home could prepare us for daily eight kilometre runs, which are apparently a standard part of military training here. I still ache from yesterday's attempt despite how I was called away only a short time into it. Out of our group, only Lucan made it to the end.

"Let's go, Commander Paylor," says Cam. "It isn't one rule for us and another for you just yet."

"Shut it, Solider Marshall," I retort, pushing him and then racing away before he can retaliate.

* * *

><p>Despite the seriousness of everything I've been doing today, from the target practice with my gun to the discussion of tactics and strategy in Command, I still feel like a disobedient schoolgirl as I creep up the stairs with only my torch to light the way. If the tattoo on my forearm hadn't already washed away then it would tell me I should be asleep in bed, and as I emerge into the corridor after checking for patrolling soldiers, I wonder what they'd do if they actually caught me. Not a lot, I imagine, but that doesn't prevent me from feeling like I'm breaking the rules.<p>

"Flax, is that you?"

"No, Baize. It's President Coin disguised as me," I reply, all the sneaking around making me flippant and almost light-hearted.

"That's okay then," he retorts, pointing his torch at me in a way that makes me growl and shrink back.

"Hurry up. Or the next patrol will be here."

He nods, and his shadow on the wall to the side of him does the same. Together we edge towards the metal door at the end of the narrow passageway we've turned into, and when we get there after what's only a few seconds but feels like all eternity, he throws it open and strides into the room beyond.

"She's here!" he calls, gesturing wildly to me with his arms. "Our beloved leader!"

"Shut up, Baize," I snap, forcing myself not to laugh as I quickly close the door tightly behind us. "Do you want the whole of District Thirteen in here?"

"They won't hear us."

"How do you know that?" I ask, shaking my head. "Do you know anything about the running of this place?"

"Don't have to," he replies, shining his torch around the room until he finds a chair to sit on. "We've only got a couple of weeks to go if the rumours are true. Then we're out of here. For good if I have anything to do with it."

When I pull myself onto one of the tables, at least half a dozen torch lights appear, and I look around the room to see a mass of familiar faces. Cam and Cali are closest, with Lucan sitting against the far wall. Zib is next to him, with her arms wrapped tightly around Adie. I raise my eyebrows questioningly when I see the girl. We're all here so I can tell them the truth about what's happening rather than the patchy information they're fed through the official channels of this place, but I'm not sure it's fit for the ears of one so young.

"She saw worse back in Eight and you know it," Zib says, understanding what I'm thinking like usual, and I have no choice but to nod in acceptance. I know that's true as well as she does.

"So tell us, Commander Paylor," interrupts Adaira, fierce-looking in her military uniform even without her weapons. "What's going on? When are we going to get a shot at the Capitol?"

"When the rebels take Two," answers Poplin before I can speak. "It doesn't take a genius to work that one out."

I point my flash light in the direction of her voice to see her sitting on the floor in the corner. Her sister sits in front of her, leaning back against her chest, and I can see her useless hands neatly folded together on Luce's stomach.

"Watch your mouth, Poplin Bradley," snaps Adaira instantly, taking the other woman's retort as an insult.

"Or what?" answers Poplin, her scowl every bit as vicious as it used to be before her accident.

"That's enough. Both of you," I hiss, only turning back to Cam when they're both looking suitably chastened. "I said a few people, Cam. This is half the bloody district."

"Everyone wants to know what's going on, Flax," he hisses back, his voice just as low as mine. "Tell us what they're saying in Command."

"Lucan can probably tell you more than me," I reply, raising my voice so they can all hear me. "We're trying to take control of Two, but it's the Capitol's last stronghold and they're not in a rush to give it up."

"They're all traitors there," says Baize. "I don't see why we can't just blow the whole place up."

"Because if you weren't so narrow-minded then you'd realise you can't judge everyone on the beliefs of a few," snarls Lucan, making me abruptly remember that we're talking about his birthplace and home.

"Oh yeah? They're not exactly fighting back against the Capitol, are they?"

"Well, actually," I say, speaking before Zib's tenuous hold on the front of Lucan's shirt is no more and I'm breaking up a physical fight instead of a verbal one. "Most of the outlying villages are under rebel control already. And there are rebel spies in the heart of the Nut."

"The Nut?" asks Lucan, sounding slightly calmer.

"The Capitol's place in the mountains," I explain, surprised I subconsciously picked up the term Heavensbee invented for the place and repeated it without thinking.

"The Mountain Fortress," he replies. "I know a couple of people on our side who've worked there for years. They'll help when the time comes."

"And a few of their Victors," I add, repeating what I heard earlier as everyone in Command tried desperately to think of a way to drive the Capitol out of the final district.

"Two's Victors?" scoffs Zib incredulously. "Help us? I doubt it."

"Some of them will," Lucan says. "Some of them are on our side. And you heard about Odair's broadcast. They've got as many reasons as most of us to want Snow brought down."

"So we're basically waiting for Two to be brought down from the inside?" replies Zib, nodding her head in acceptance of what Lucan said.

"Sort of," I say. "They're trying to storm the entrances even as we speak. I said they could try to starve them out but apparently that won't work because they've got years worth of supplies in there."

"They have," confirms Lucan. "You already know I was stationed there for a bit a few years ago. Parts of it look just like the Capitol."

"Can't we go to Two and fight?" asks Adaira. "There's no point us staying here."

"You know the rules," I say, secretly almost wishing we _could_ go to the frontline because I don't like being shut up in this place any more than the rest of them. "Pass basic training and then we can."

I can see that she's about to argue from the expression on her face and the way she sits forward on her chair, but before she can speak, we all hear footsteps coming down the corridor. Everyone turns their torches off and we stare into the darkness, waiting.

However as the door swings slowly open, I change my mind about hiding and decide it's a ridiculous thing to be doing. Even if it is a District Thirteen patrol, I outrank any soldier who would be doing the night shift anyway. Besides, the only thing we're doing wrong is staying up past bedtime, and it's been at least twenty years since someone's been able to punish me for that.

I flick the switch on my torch in time to see Eliza peer tentatively into the room, and her eyes widen when she realises we're all in here.

"What are you all doing out?" she asks, her voice barely audible. It takes me a few seconds to realise she's trying to make sure her patrol partner doesn't hear her.

"Planning another revolution," replies Zib flatly, ducking out of the way when I reach out to whack the back of her head.

"We're just talking, Eliza," I say. "None of the compartments are big enough to fit us all in so we came up here."

"Yes, Commander Paylor," she answers. "But be careful. This looks like a War Council or something and people might get the wrong idea."

By 'people', I sense she means the likes of Coin and Boggs, but I shrug my shoulders dismissively anyway. She retreats back into the corridor and I hear her telling someone else that the room's empty. I might be confident we're not doing anything seriously wrong, but that doesn't stop my sigh of relief.

"Do you really think they'd think that?" asks Cali after a few minutes. "That we're plotting something just because we're all out here together."

"I suppose it might look a bit suspicious," I reply. "If your mind works that way," I add, letting my words hang so they know what I'm really saying is that Coin's mind certainly does work that way.

"What do you think?" asks Baize to the room as a whole. "The District Eight War Council. Or maybe even the government. How about it, President Paylor?"

The others laugh, but I can't, not when I think about the potential implications of him saying things like that here.

"Don't even joke about such things," I hiss. "In a place like this? Are you mad?"

He shrugs his broad shoulders and I shake my head at him before looking around at the others. They're laughing, but not a single one of them is laughing at the ludicrous suggestion of 'President Paylor', and suddenly I'm terrified. A few weeks ago, I was racing across the square in District Eight followed by a mob armed with stones and planks of wood. Now I'm in District Thirteen, sitting around a table with people like Coin and Heavensbee and being treated like an equal. Is it any wonder that I don't know what to think?

* * *

><p>"What is this place?" asks Cali a couple of weeks later, saying what we're all thinking as we stand in a small room set to the side of what looks like a street from another world.<p>

"Simulated Street Combat," says the soldier who met us here but still hasn't introduced himself.

"The Block," says Lucan ominously, before changing his tone instantly to something that sounds a lot like sarcasm. "It's so we know what the Capitol's going to look like before we get there."

"The Capitol looks like this?" replies Zib doubtfully as she peers through the dirty glass window at the stretch of brightly coloured building fronts that bear virtually no resemblance to anything else we've seen in Thirteen. "Seriously?"

"Sort of," he answers with a smirk. "But the colours are brighter and the architecture's a bit…weirder."

"We're not here to discuss the finer points of Capitolian architecture, Soldier Domani," snaps yet another man in a grey uniform. "You will be divided into squads of eight and will then be required to deal with whatever situations present themselves while you're out there. You will be able to hear your commander's instructions once you've left this room."

"But our commander's here," says Cam suspiciously as he nods in my direction.

"Not for the purposes of this exercise, Soldier Marshall," is the immediate response. "Only when you've passed basic training will you be assigned to the squads you'll be in once you leave here."

"So we divide into groups and go out there now?"

"Yes. You can go first, if you wish," replies the soldier, focussing on me and sounding slightly more respectful than he did before.

"Fine," I say, lifting my unloaded training weapon from my shoulder and turning to face the others. "Cam, Zib, Lucan, Cali, Luce, Baize, Darry," I continue, instinctively calling the names of the seven people I trust most in the room even though I know I won't be able to fight with them for real because they'll be needed to lead squads of their own. "Let's get this over with."

After taking what turn out to be earpieces from the instructor, the eight of us leave the side room to emerge out onto the fake Capitol street. Everywhere is so silent that each one of our footsteps echoes around and around. Nobody dares to speak, and I find myself using hand signals and pointed looks to tell the others which way to go rather than giving verbal commands.

We edge further along until the mock buildings surround us, but it's only when we reach a bright orange door that I hear the voice in my ear, telling us we have to secure and search it. This doesn't feel right, and when I look at the others, I can tell by their expressions that they're thinking the same thing. We make no move to carry on, and the voice repeats itself, louder and more insistently this time.

"Now what?" hisses Cam.

"I think we have to do as it says," I reply, laughing at myself inside when I realise it's partly the fact someone else is giving the orders that's making this situation feel surreal.

"Might as well get on with it then," says Lucan, stepping forwards and taking Zib with him.

Both of them have their guns raised and ready to fire, the look in their eyes telling me they're not treating this like a simulation.

"Go on," I whisper, jerking my head towards the door and waiting for Lucan to kick it down.

However before his foot can even touch it, there's an explosion on the other side of the street, and we're so used to bombs dropping from the sky that we all run for cover. Once the air fills with smoke and the noise of buildings tumbling down, it doesn't feel like a simulation to me either. I'm instantly transported back to Eight and it's like I never left. I look up and see a group of rebels further down the street, cornered by a squadron of approaching Peacekeepers, and then the voice coming through my earpiece tells me the area the enemy are walking on is mined.

All I have to do is get to the detonator, but I know without being told that they'll see me if I break cover. Even if I can blow the mines, I'll never be able to get back to safety in time.

I think about it for a split second, gazing at the virtually defenceless rebels, and I run anyway. The sound of gunfire fills the air and the nagging voice in the back of my mind that's been telling me all along that this isn't real is finally drowned out entirely. I sprint as hard and fast as I can, desperate to do what I have to do before it's too late.

But then I'm suddenly crashing to the ground, landing flat on my stomach with a weight on my back that holds me down so I can't get up. I don't have the strength to struggle back to my feet, even as I watch the Peacekeepers reach their target and open fire on the rebels across the street.

Then the lights go back on and the Peacekeepers stop. They turn back to face my direction and I suddenly recognise many familiar faces from around the compound despite the white uniforms.

"_What _in Panem was that?" barks the instructor who'd initially greeted us in the side room.

The weight on my back disappears and the next thing I know, Cam's pulling me to my feet. It's only when my eyes meet his that I understand. All eight of us had heard the same command, but only I had been in the right place to detonate the mines. Cam had seen it for the suicide mission it was and, caught up in the simulation, had sacrificed the others to save me.

"Stupid," I hiss, shaking my head at him as the soldiers who run the Block rapidly get nearer.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves closer to me instead of moving away.

"Maybe this is Fate's way of trying to tell you something," whispers Cali, looking almost amused despite the situation, and I abruptly can't even begin to look Cam in the eye.

"When you put on that uniform," starts the instructor as he finally reaches us. "You forget who you are and think only of the battle. We are at war, and you can't allow personal feelings to get in the way of the job you must do."

He takes a deep breath and I think that's him done, but I'm swiftly proved wrong. The lecture we get about the glory of the rebel army and the duty that falls to a few to sacrifice themselves for the greater good goes on for what feels like hours. I'm reminded of how I used to feel back in the factories before the rebellion, and however wrong it is, the instinct to fight against unwanted authority is as great as it ever was.

"We all know why we're here," I interrupt. "But if you train all emotion and independent thought out of our army then you just have mindless robots who can't think for themselves. There's a fine line between obedience and stupidity, Soldier, and I have no intention of crossing it."

"You're saying what happened then was right? Because I can assure you that President Coin wouldn't see it that way."

I'm tempted to tell him that I don't care what President Coin thinks, but I force myself to keep that thought hidden inside. Now is not the time for a second rebellion. If we win the first one then the time for that will come later.

"You might not think much of us, but we held our district for weeks and weeks after our uprising, and we're not as clueless as you think we are. Sometimes in the heat of battle, the heart will rule the head, but maybe it's better that way." The pressure behind Cam's hand as it rests against the small of my back increases when I say that. It's abruptly an effort to concentrate on what I'm saying. "Now if you don't mind then I think we should get on. Otherwise it'll be dinnertime and we'll still be out here."

"Very well, Commander Paylor," he replies. "But I still have orders that you all have to pass basic training or you won't be on the list of those going to fight."

"I understand," I answer with a tired sigh, lifting my pretend gun and heading back along the pretend street as the pretend lights dim again.

Now more than ever, I'm sick of pretend.

* * *

><p>About a week later, I allowed two entire squads of rebels to enter a street lined with snipers so Cam's cover wasn't blown. I did it without thinking, without realising any of the implications of my actions because I couldn't see past keeping him alive.<p>

After that, they actually got another commander down there and I was shouted at _again_. But even though it was at the back of my mind that it should have bothered me then and it should bother me now, it doesn't. I'd just shrugged my shoulders, flashing the white stripe on the sleeve of my dark grey uniform that marks me as his equal, and headed back onto the Block.

About half an hour later we were faced with a group of men and women dressed as Peacekeepers but quoting rebel passwords and claiming to be in disguise. Zib saw just their uniforms and shot them without stopping to listen.

Anything I did or didn't do was forgotten by the instructors after that, but that doesn't mean I could forget. How could I when I remembered every time I looked at Cam?

However despite our rather shaky start at the Block, we have survived our two weeks of SSC training relatively unscathed and we are still counted as part of the rebel army. Today is the day of our final test, the day we find out if we're going to be put on the list of soldiers who will shortly be leaving Thirteen for somewhere closer to the Capitol before the first attempt to take the city and win the war.

I turn back to look at the others as we wait for the soldier to open the door and I hope they all make it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>A bit closer to getting to the Capitol now... As ever, reviews are very much appreciated ;) <em>**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Before you read the chapter, I just want to say that some of you may read this and get a nagging feeling that you've read it before. That's because you have - all of my stories are essentially one big story to me, and this one overlaps considerably with the epilogue to 'The Dream of Freedom'. If you haven't read my 'Freedom Trilogy' then I hope everything still makes sense..._**

Chapter Twelve

In my dream I'm back in District Eight, walking through the rubble-filled streets littered with the bodies of the dead. I can smell the smoke and feel the dust in my throat, all every bit as real as it was when I was awake and really there. But I know I'm dreaming because Grandpa's with me.

"You're powerful now, Flaxie," he says. "You don't have to listen to them. You can do what you like."

I turn to look at him when the image of President Coin appears in my mind with no conscious effort, but he isn't there. He's been replaced by many, many familiar faces, and they're all looking at me. They don't speak, but I know they're waiting for me to tell them what to do. They're waiting for me to make everything right again, but I don't know if I can.

"No," I whimper, trying to pull away from the tugging at my sleeve. "I can't. I can't do it."

"Can't do what?" asks another voice, a real voice this time, not one from my dream. "Wake up, Flax. Wake up."

"Cam? What are you doing here?"

I open my eyes to find him kneeling on the floor by the side of my bed, his hand still resting on my arm. I instinctively look in the direction the window would have been in if we were back home, but all I see is the plain grey wall. There are no windows this far underground. I have no idea what time it is.

I look back at Cam and he reaches out to brush my hair back from my eyes. It's an effort not to lean into his touch, but I make myself remain still. He shakes his head slightly and smiles as if he knew what I was thinking anyway.

"They want you in Command," he replies. "The Capitol surrendered District Two a couple of hours ago."

"That's it then," I say, shocked now the virtual siege that's been going on for weeks has finally ended even though I've been half expecting it ever since we passed basic training. "Now they're going to have to move on the Capitol and end this."

"Good. I've had enough of waiting around here."

"You're not the only one," I answer, sitting up in bed and scanning the room to see where I dumped my boots when I took them off yesterday. "What time is it?"

"A couple of hours before breakfast. But you know this wouldn't be Thirteen if they didn't talk about what they're going to do for at least a hundred hours before they even think about actually doing it."

"Don't say that," I hiss, trying not to laugh. "They've probably got cameras and microphones in here."

"In every room?" he replies, and when I nod, he laughs as well. "We need to get out of here, Flax. Can't you convince them it's time for us to leave?"

"I don't think they'll need much convincing now Two's under our control," I say, swinging my legs over the edge of the narrow bed.

I expect him to say something and turn confusedly back at him when he doesn't. He's staring intently at me, and the look in his eyes makes me abruptly remember that I went to bed in only my shirt last night. Like everything provided by Thirteen, the shirt doesn't fit properly and would probably be called a dress in the Capitol, but my heart beats a bit quicker all the same. I suddenly know I have to break the moment or we'll still be here when Coin announces the invasion.

"Cambric Marshall, are you thirty or thirteen?" I scold, whacking him with my pillow as I cross the room to retrieve the rest of my clothes.

He scowls for a split second as I pull my grey jumpsuit on, but then he's smiling again. "It's not my fault you go to bed half-naked, Flaxie," he retorts, but as he stands up and heads back to the door, his expression becomes serious again.

"I'll tell you what they say," I say, understanding what he's thinking without him having to explain. "But tell the others that it won't be long now."

* * *

><p>It doesn't take me long to get to Command as the only people who appear to be up and about at this time are the District Thirteen soldiers who are on patrol. They see my dark grey uniform and melt away instantly. The way they look at the ground as they go because they can't seem to meet my eyes never stops surprising me.<p>

I nod to the other people gathered around the massive glass table and take the nearest available seat as quickly as I can. They're all talking about District Two, about the destruction of what they call the Nut and Lucan calls the Mountain Fortress, and from what I can tell, it seems to have been the district's people who fought back and took control in the end. I'm pleased to hear it, but I can't think about it for long because the stories of the way all those people were trapped inside the mountain as it burned make me feel sick.

"How many people got out?" I ask, and even Heavensbee looks slightly mournful as he turns to look at me.

"Some," he replies, and I immediately take that to mean 'not many'. It sounds like the reverse of what I used to tell people back in Eight when they asked me how many bodies were being buried in the mass graves behind the warehouses. 'Not many', I'd said. What I really meant was 'far too many'.

"So now what?"

"The Capitol," says Dalton as he sits down beside me, and not for the first time, I wonder how a livestock farmer from District Ten got his place at the table in Command. Then I laugh at myself for being so hypocritical. A few months ago, I was sorting cloth at a textile factory.

"When?"

"Soon. That's what we're here for. To plan our strategy," says Coin's sidekick.

I'm about to reply, to tell her that we should spend more time talking to the people who'll actually be fighting than we do talking amongst ourselves, but I don't get chance because of the knock at the door.

"President Coin," says the man obsequiously as he moves quickly across the room and salutes the woman at the head of the table. "They've started to arrive. The…remnants of the people from the Nut, I mean."

"Have they been processed?" she asks, making me wish there was someone here with enough authority to make her stop and listen to herself. "Is there anyone on their way here? I assume that my instructions with the list are being followed," she adds ominously.

"Of course," replies the man immediately, saluting again and then looking chastened when she jerks her head sharply at him to hurry him up. "There were many, many casualties, but a few survived."

"Who?" interrupts Heavensbee.

"Astraea Rossetti escaped on one of the trains. She's being brought here now, but there was some…difficulty in the upper levels."

"Difficulty?" snaps Coin instantly.

"There was a young woman with her," he replies, his face contorted with the effort of thinking so he doesn't miss any details he might get into trouble for forgetting later. "Varia…no, that's not right. Velia. Velia Barbieri. But she wasn't on the list."

"Barbieri?" says Heavensbee pointedly, looking as if he's frustrated by the way many of the soldiers here don't seem to be able to think for themselves. "Does that mean you have Ursala? You must have. She'd have never let that girl out of her sight."

I've no idea who Velia Barbieri is, but for once I agree with the former Head Gamemaker. I think this war would be a lot more straight forward if more people could think for themselves.

However when I think about it, it still takes me a second to place the familiar name, but then I remember. Ursala Barbieri won the Hunger Games back when I was still of reaping age, and I spent many guilty, selfish hours feeling grateful our escort had pulled another girl's name from the reaping ball as I watched the woman from District Two in the arena.

"She's dead, sir."

"Dead?" barks Coin, and it isn't sorrow I hear in her voice but disappointment. "She'd been spying for Redsparrow for years. All that information…"

"I'm sure your grief will go a long way to consoling her daughter."

It's only when everyone turns to look at me that I realise I spoke aloud. Then I want nothing more than to crawl under the table to hide from Coin's cold, pale grey gaze, but I force myself to hold my ground, pressing my hands flat against the glass of the table to keep them steady.

"With all due respect, President Coin," I say, surprised by how steady I manage to sound. It helps that I can easily imagine how much Cam would laugh if he'd heard me say that. It's what I used to say to the overseers back in the factory when I was making it perfectly clear I thought they were due no respect at all. "I merely meant I think we have to remember we are talking about people, not machines. If we don't then we'll be as bad as those we're fighting against."

When a considerable number of people sitting around the table with us murmur their agreement, Coin has no choice but to let my remark drop. She clears her throat and taps her pile of papers on the table to line them up before glaring at the messenger one final time.

"Bring me Rossetti then. What are you waiting for?"

Nobody speaks as we wait, and time seems to slow as I feel the president's eyes boring into mine. I look away from her eventually, and see Dalton from District Ten grinning back at me. I'm waiting for him to say something to break the uncomfortable silence like he usually does, but this time he doesn't get the opportunity as the door swings open and another soldier appears.

"Astraea Rossetti," he announces, and word of Coin's foul temper must have reached his ears because he immediately turns and leaves the room.

When I look at the woman who appears in the doorway, all I can think about is what it must have been like to be trapped inside what Lucan calls the Mountain Fortress as it came tumbling down. What's left of her uniform is covered in dust so it looks brown and grey rather than its original black. Half of it is torn and burnt, and the almost black eyes that briefly meet mine are surrounded by a layer of dirt that makes skin I imagine to be the same olive tone as Lucan's appear a lot darker. She flicks her hair back over her shoulders and my eyes are drawn to the thick scar she has down one side of her face.

She looks almost dismissively at us all, even Coin, but I see recognition in her expression when her gaze falls upon Heavensbee. That recognition quickly turns to anger and rage, but if the former Head Gamemaker notices then he doesn't let it show.

"I'm very pleased to see you alive and well, Astraea," he says, smiling widely back at her.

"Because you know how much information I can bring you," she replies, and she stays where she is even when he indicates she should sit on the chair beside him. "And you think I'll give it to you even after what just happened."

"War is a cruel thing," says Coin, and she sounds almost indifferent. "Sometimes there is…unavoidable collateral damage."

The spy from District Two narrows her eyes sharply, and I can tell immediately that she's thinking what I'm thinking. From the way Heavensbee quickly intervenes, it's obvious that he also senses this woman's instinctive reaction wouldn't be to have a calm and reasonable discussion.

"Astraea," he says pointedly. "This is Alma Coin, the president of District Thirteen."

"And how are you better than the one you seek to replace?" is Astraea's immediate response as one hand reaches for her belt as if searching for a weapon that clearly isn't there."Have you any idea of the suffering and pain you inflicted on all of those people today? You didn't even give them a chance to surrender. You killed more innocent people than I can count. You killed people who had worked for you, spied for you, risked their lives for you. Ursala Barbieri's dead. Her daughter's sitting outside this room right now, grieving for a woman who didn't deserve to die."

"Difficult decisions have to be made during these difficult times," replies Coin, her expression and voice as emotionless as ever. "It always falls to a few to make sacrifices for the greater good."

"I don't see you sacrificing a lot," she snaps back, and it looks like it's taking her a lot of effort to resist the urge to launch herself at the president.

"Ladies, please," interjects Heavensbee, sounding for all the world like he's ending an argument over a place at a dinner table back in the Capitol.

I stand up and am about to find Astraea a chair at the table, thinking she might find it easier if she feels a little less like she's being put on trial, but Heavensbee beats me to it.

"Astraea, come and have a look at this," he says quietly, his Capitolian accent somehow sounding even more strange than it usually does in this dark and confined underground room. "You've seen the other side's version so you might be able to tell us if we've got anything wrong."

At first I think she's going to refuse, that she's going to attempt to leave and then Coin's going to have to get her lackeys to arrest her or something. But even as I begin to walk around the table towards the door, Astraea starts to cross over to the massive map of Panem on the wall. Heavensbee follows her and I do as well.

"This should be interesting," says Dalton as he moves to stand beside me. "If the way she told Coin is anything to go by then I doubt she'll be backwards in coming forwards."

I nod, smiling slightly as I look up at the map. I'd expected our latest visitor to get on with it straight away, so I'm not expecting to hear her voice directed at me.

"You're not Thirteen," she says, and when I turn to face her, she's looking me appraisingly up and down before doing the same with Dalton.

"This is Dalton," I reply, pointing at the man I suppose I could call my ally against the District Thirteen automatons that make up most of this room's population. "Originally of Ten. And I'm Flax. District Eight."

"Flax Paylor?"

"Why?" I ask, struggling to suppress a groan. Is there anyone in Panem who doesn't know who I am?

"Because your name was poison in Capitol Command," she replies with a grin I hadn't been expecting. "Sending your district's Peacekeepers running to their escape hovercrafts like untrained children and then turning their own weapons store on them? If the rumours coming out of the big city are to be believed then Prisca Oakhurst has spent many of her nights since thinking up new ways to torture you to a very slow and painful death."

The groan I'd been struggling to suppress becomes a shudder at the mention of the woman all of the country knows as one of President Snow's closest aides. I remember Lucan shooting her picture and dread to think of how she earned his hatred and her fearsome reputation.

"I suppose I should be honoured," I say eventually, but at the same time, the thought of having such a reputation still makes me feel uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>When Astraea's finally finished telling us every detail she can remember about the Capitol and its forces, we know a lot more than we did before. However there's a massive difference between knowing more than we did and knowing enough to feel in a position to invade.<p>

"Don't you have spies still in the city?" I ask Heavensbee.

"Communication is virtually impossible," he replies, making my heart sink. "Some of them have tried and been caught. Most of them with any information worth having are too smart to try. I don't think we've got a choice. We're going to have to risk it and go with only what knowledge we have."

Yes, we will have to risk it, but all I can think is that it won't be him doing the risking. It will be the likes of me and everyone who came with me from District Eight who will be on the front line. And what matters most to me is doing what's best for them and saving as many of them as I can. I've come to realise that's the only reason I allow anyone to call me 'Commander'.

I turn my back on Heavensbee and walk to the other side of the room, sitting down on a chair in a corner and letting their voices wash over me. If it was up to me then we'd be out there training. We'd be talking to the people who will actually be fighting the battles and giving all this knowledge to them instead of keeping it ourselves. But it isn't up to me, so all I can do is wait for the meeting to be over.

* * *

><p>"Are they always like this?" asks a low, quiet voice with an accent the same as Lucan's.<p>

I snap out of my trance and look up to see Astraea looming above me. When I nod, she shrugs her shoulders and sinks to the floor, leaning against the wall by the side of my chair. We sit there for what feels like hours, listening to Heavensbee, Coin and their people debating about what we should do next now we have control of all the districts.

"That film of Everdeen in Eight was shown on our televisions in the Mountain Fortress," she says eventually, whispering so only I can hear. "We all saw the hospital burning."

I look at her for a minute, remembering seeing the flames and the smoke billowing into the sky.

"Those who couldn't fight were punished for something done by those who could," I reply bitterly. "We're only here because we want to go to the Capitol."

"That makes two of us then," she says grimly before looking back at the people sitting around the glass table. "Do they ever actually _do_ anything? Or do they just talk about it?"

I raise my eyebrows to tell her she already knows the answer to that one but I don't speak. The woman who was on the verge of arguing with her president when I first came here is talking again, and once more there are voices starting to get raised.

However, no matter how oblivious the woman was to her leader's disapproval before, she allows herself to be silenced with just a look in response to the loud crash that comes from outside in the corridor. Astraea's on her feet before I even realise she's moved, and it's only when I step forwards with her that I realise I am too. I reach instinctively for my gun before I remember I'm not allowed to carry it during Command meetings.

"What's going on out there?" asks a very anxious and frantic looking Heavensbee.

The door flies open and two people spill into the room, one looking anxious and worried as they're both surrounded by District Thirteen soldiers but the other remaining defiant. Whatever was causing the noise in the corridor is still going on, and I can see Astraea peering around me to look out. But then my attention is immediately brought back to the people in the room when one of them speaks in the unmistakeable accent of the Capitol.

"Don't even think about it," the defiant one snarls as a soldier reaches towards her.

I try not to stare but it's almost impossible to stop myself. I've seen Capitol people before, the overseers and the escorts and visitors on Reaping Day, but I've never seen anyone quite like her. The others were mostly garishly dressed, with loud, piercing voices and a tendency to look like they make a habit of either eating far too much or far too little at mealtimes, but this woman is different. She's real Capitol, someone used to having power and influence. I'd have been able to tell that despite her filthy clothes and the dirt and dust that covers every inch of exposed skin even if I couldn't see the look of recognition in Heavensbee's eyes.

"Fancy seeing you here, Plutarch," says the woman to Heavensbee, talking to him but scanning everyone in the room with startlingly green eyes at the same time.

When she looks at me, I refuse to let myself blink, and after a couple of seconds she arches her perfect brows and smirks.

"How did you get here, Narissa?" Heavensbee asks, neither hostile nor welcoming. "What are you playing at?"

"She got here in the hovercraft my soldiers nearly shot down," interrupts Coin, glaring at the Capitolian woman called Narissa with no attempt to hide her hatred as she finally turns away from the messenger who came into the room a short time before our new arrivals.

"Your soldiers should be more careful," retorts Narissa derisively. "And they should use what few brain cells they possess. If the Capitol's going to attack Thirteen then it won't do it in a single hovercraft that's barely airworthy, will it?"

I shouldn't laugh, in fact something tells me it could be dangerous to do anything that might attract this woman's attention, but I can't help myself. I've tried to pretend, even to myself, that I don't dislike Coin, that I don't have my doubts that she can even be trusted, but it's never truly worked. I don't like her and I certainly don't trust her. It feels good to see someone answer her back properly, even if it is this Capitolian woman I've never seen before.

"Hovercraft?" asks Heavensbee sceptically.

"A Capitolian one," replies Narissa with yet another smirk as she swipes her hands down her dress as if she's attempting to make it cleaner.

"How is that even possible?" splutters the former Head Gamemaker incredulously, staring at the woman he obviously knew before the war in stunned disbelief.

"With a little help from a friend," she replies, and when she turns so I can see her face, I've never seen an expression more serious. "She risked her life for this. Her cover's blown now. And she's still there, Heavensbee. If you don't get her out alive then I swear right now that this country won't be big enough to hide you from me."

I've no idea who this woman is or who she's talking about, but this has something to do with what Lucan was telling me about, I'm sure of it. He told me once that the rebellion began in the Capitol, and Heavensbee's presence in Command more than confirms that. The more this Narissa says, the more convinced I am that she's part of this too.

"You'll have to tell me where she is," Heavensbee replies, and to my surprise, I can't help noticing he looks distinctly uncomfortable under her sharp gaze. The curiosity I feel about her abruptly doubles now she's got a former Gamemaker looking scared. "And you'll have to hope she's clever enough to stay out of trouble because there's no way we can get anywhere near the Capitol yet."

"There's no one smarter than my girl," answers Narissa immediately. "And I wouldn't worry about the other either."

"But I don't understand this. How did you get out without being shot down? Who flew the hovercraft?"

"Me, of course," she replies, her tone of voice giving me the impression she's longing to roll her eyes at him. "The woman who put you where you are today taught me many things."

"Why are you here?"

"To help you send Coriolanus Snow to meet his maker. But first you can call your guard dogs off," she continues, not looking the slightest bit ruffled when the door flies open again and someone else enters the room to stand by her side.

He's immediately surrounded by a swarm of grey-uniformed minions, but then yet another person appears, her red tunic a complete contrast to the dull colours all around her. She drives most of the soldiers away with a level of speed and skill that combines with her youth to forcibly remind me of watching the Hunger Games. She has the District Two look, and I'm not surprised when she moves to stand by Astraea. I assume she must be the Victor's daughter, and it's an effort to drag my eyes from them until I look straight at the strangely familiar man as he pushes the remaining soldiers away dismissively.

The man is as Capitolian as the woman called Narissa. I don't have to see the recognition on his face as he stares across at Heavensbee to work that one out. Besides, I'm sure I've seen him on the television before. He's in a real state, but I can see the polished and poised person underneath all that without having to try too hard. As with his companion, there's something about the way he moves, about the way he narrows his eyes as he slams his hand onto the table in front of the former Head Gamemaker.

"If you don't use this to bring him down then I'm going back there to do it myself," snarls the man, leaning over the table but moving his hand away so we can all see the silver square of metal he's put down.

"What's that?" I whisper, turning to Dalton and Astraea, who both shrug their shoulders, silently admitting to being as confused as I am.

If only I could remember who the man is. If I could do that then I'm sure I'd have more of an idea why Heavensbee is staring at the piece of metal in complete rapture.

"How…? How did you get this?" he stammers eventually, more lost for words than I've ever seen him before. "How did you get out? You died when we fled the Capitol. I saw you fall."

"Ways and means, Heavensbee," says the man, his almost easy familiarity confirming that they'd known each other way before they met here.

I watch curiously as Fulvia takes the silver square and somehow attaches it to the side of the table. When she presses a button, some kind of map covered in countless flashing lights appears. Initially there are shocked gasps, presumably from the people in the room who actually know what they're looking at, but then there is only silence. Not even Coin speaks.

"It's a map of the Capitol," hisses Astraea, leaning close to me so she doesn't have to talk above a barely audible whisper. "I've no idea how he got it out of the city. I've no idea how he even got it in the first place."

I'm about to ask her who the man is. She seems to know and it's less embarrassing than admitting I don't know in front of the entire council. However I don't get chance because Coin's cold voice snaps across the room.

"Does Snow know you took this?"

"No. This is a copy. He knows nothing of its existence."

"Why should we trust you, _Minister Hazelwell_?"

Minister Hazelwell. I knew I recognised his face. A man who has been a member of the Capitolian government for years and years, an escort for the Games, one of President Snow's inner circle. Or so I thought. But he must be yet another person who isn't what he initially seems to be, and I wait with anticipation to hear his response.

I'm surprised when he barely gives Coin a second glance and stares straight at Heavensbee. Through the corner of my eye, I see Astraea shrink backwards, and the expression on Hazelwell's face makes me do the same. I've never seen such anger, grief and sadness all bottled up inside one person, not even back in Eight during the bombing.

"Because I would kill Snow with my bare hands if I had even the vaguest hint of a chance. You know what he did, and I don't just mean the Quell. I had to watch him break the woman I love over and over again. I had to be strong and put her back together because for some reason I still can't comprehend, she always ran to me. Before she went into the arena for the second time, she made me promise to bring the bastard down. So I'm here keeping the promise I made to she who was everything to me."

"Why do I get the impression I'm missing something?" asks Dalton, his tone almost dry despite the situation.

"Falco's been a traitor against Snow for years," replies Astraea. "Since before Thirteen was even involved in the rebellion at all."

"But who is he talking about?"

"Cashmere de Montfort," she breathes, almost like she doesn't want to speak the name aloud in case Falco hears.

"The Victor?"

"How many other people do you know called Cashmere?" asks the woman from Two, rolling her eyes at Dalton.

"But…"

"It's crazy, I know. But it's true. I know it."

Something about the way she says that makes me long to ask her how she could possibly know for certain when it's unlikely she ever left her home district before she came here. However there's also something about the way she narrows her eyes that stops me. Whatever the reason, it's suddenly obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it in the middle of Command and it's probably none of my business anyway.

I look away from her, and my eyes fall upon Narissa, who is pretending to be intently studying the map on the wall whist really watching Coin's reaction. Despite her outwardly fragile appearance, there's something about the Capitolian woman that makes me think she'd be a deadly enemy, and when I hear Dalton's sharp intake of breath, I know I'm not the only one waiting for the show to begin as Coin opens her mouth to speak.

"Well not one of you has the proper clearance," she says imperiously. "You're going to have to go downstairs with the rest of the refugees until you can be processed and assigned somewhere to stay."

The two men remain silent, but I'm not surprised when Narissa laughs, a light and airy sound which makes me shiver because it's so out of place in the dark, stuffy room. Velia is smiling and so is Astraea as she leans across to whisper in my ear.

"And cue the fireworks," she says, speaking just as Narissa's indignant voice rings out across the table.

"Refugees?" scoffs the Capitolian woman incredulously. "We've been fighting for this revolution since long before you decided it might be worth your while to start interfering."

"Interfering? In reality I don't seem to recall you getting very far without us."

"You know nothing," snarls Narissa. "Heavensbee, we're going somewhere a little closer to the surface. I certainly won't be wearing the truly hideous uniform of this place, but when you decide you're going homewards then I'll fly one of your hovercrafts. Into battle if I have to. I won't let you leave Vesper to die."

"He won't," says Falco bitterly. "I think even he's had enough of abandoning innocent people to death."

I'm guessing he means Cashmere, as his eyes are still full of raw grief as he looks across at Astraea before quickly leaving the room. The other man who'd arrived with him immediately follows, and the District Thirteen guards don't even have chance to think about apprehending them.

"When you decide to do something serious then I'll think about helping you. Until then, I'm going to try and find us somewhere decent to stay," says Narissa, smirking at a truly appalled looking Coin. "You won't throw me out, _Alma_," she continues mockingly. "I know too much."

"If only her intelligence wasn't equal to her arrogance," whispers Astraea as the Capitolian woman also storms out of the room. "Or maybe that should be the other way around."

"You know her?"

"You've heard of Achillea Redsparrow? The one they call The Capitolian?" she says, and then continues when I nod. "Narissa's her granddaughter. She was helping her grandmother plot against Snow when she was still at school. Their rebellion attempt only failed because they were betrayed from the inside."

"I know. Lucan told me."

"Lucan Domani? Is he here? I thought he was dead."

"He decided to betray the Peacekeepers when my district rebelled. In the end I decided to keep him around."

"Good," she replies. "He's a good man."

"I hope so," I say, trying to make myself think about the rebellion when all I can think of is Zib.

* * *

><p>By the time I get back to the compartment it's nearly time for <em>18:00 - Reflection<em>, but I'm in no mood for quiet contemplation of anything. My mind replays what I've heard throughout the day over and over again until I decide I can't think any more or my head will explode. All that really matters is that holographic map anyway. With it, the excuses being used to put off invading the Capitol no longer exist, and that means it won't be long.

I hurry down the corridor, intending to get my jacket and weapons belt from the compartment before going to meet the others. Despite how this is officially time for reflection, they'll have been out training all day and will only just be heading back. I have to find them because they deserve to know what I do, that we'll be seeing the Capitol a lot sooner than a lot of us thought.

However as soon as I slide the door open, I quickly realise there's at least one of my rebels who hasn't spent the day on the training field when I find a pair of dark eyes staring back at me from her bed.

"What're you doing here, Zib?" I ask, walking a bit further into the room and not returning her almost guilty smile. "Why aren't you at training? They're bound to have noticed you weren't there, you know."

"Don't care," she replies, pulling the sheets with her as she sits up in bed and shuffles across to make room for me. I shake my head and sit down on my bed instead, still waiting for an explanation. "I didn't risk my life to exchange one lot of overseers for another. The freedom I fought for doesn't involve grey uniforms and timetables so strict we have to have them tattooed onto our arms," she continues, giving her temporary brand a vicious scowl.

"We joined the Mockingjays, Zib. If we don't do as we're told then they won't let us go to the Capitol to fight."

"We all have the right to fight in the war," she says fiercely. "Coin doesn't own me, and she doesn't own you either."

"I didn't say she did. But they're the ones with the hovercrafts and the serious weapons. They're running the show so if we want to fight then we have to pass basic training. You should understand that."

"You can't exactly talk anyway. You're looking mighty cosy down there in Command. For someone who doesn't want to be in charge, you're doing a grand job, Flax," she replies, but she's shaking her head in apology before she's even finished her last sentence.

"I didn't ask for any of this and you know it, Zib. I know you don't like it here but that doesn't mean you get to take it out on me."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have said that and I didn't mean it. I'm proud of you. We all are."

She reaches out her hand to me and this time I take it, getting up to sit on her bed beside her. She sits forward and leans against me, tucking her head under my chin like she always used to when we were much younger. When I look down, I can see the old scars on her back, remnants of the day she was whipped in the main square back in Eight.

"What's wrong?"

"I've no respect for authority," she replies, looking up at me with a smile that's far from convincing. "But other than that, I'm fine. Or I will be. I just wanted to have a day that wasn't timetabled. I'll be back on the firing range tomorrow. Grey uniform, purple tattoo and everything. Because let's face it, you need me."

"As ever, Miss Pershing, your modesty astounds me," I tease, forgiving her for playing truant without really having to think about it.

"You'd miss me if I changed," she replies. "And I meant it. I'll be there tomorrow."

"Good. You've heard about Two. It won't be long now. And we're all going to kick Snow's backside together, remember?"

"I remember," she says, turning around to rest her head back on my shoulder.

When I hear the click of a door behind me, I spin around so quickly that she has to sit up again.

"'Lo, Flax," mumbles a slightly ashamed-looking and not exactly fully dressed Lucan as he closes the bathroom door behind himself.

"Not timetabled?" I say, turning to look at Zib and raising my eyebrows. "And the rest."

"You came back early," she replies, trying and failing to hide her smile now she knows I'm not really mad at her.

"_18:00 - Reflection_," I say, taking her arm and pointing at her tattoo. "It's five past. And even Coin needs time to reflect. You know the Command meetings always end just before six."

"Sorry," she says, glancing behind me at Lucan before she carries on. "I mean it. I should have been there today. I let you down."

"We both did," adds Lucan as he sits down on the edge of my bed.

"I think we'll leave within the week," I answer, reaching down to pick Lucan's shirt up off the floor and then throwing it across to him. "We're nearly there. One way or another, I can't see us coming back once we've left."

"But if I have to do one more circuit in that training room then I may kill someone," replies Lucan in an almost plaintive voice, for him anyway. "The Thirteens do it on purpose. It's not like they don't know I can fight already."

"It's fine for you," says Zib, getting up and walking over to the only cabinet in the room, pushing him as she passes my bed and actually laughing when he tries to pull her sheet away from her. I hadn't thought to hear her laugh like that again. "This training's nothing to you. But I've had enough. I'm fed up of being tired all the time."

"I don't think that's the training, Zib," I quip, unable to resist. It's worth it for the look on her face. "I'm going to see Cali," I continue, getting up and heading for the door. "I'll be waiting outside for you when it's dinnertime and if you're not there then I'll tell the Thirteens the real reason you weren't at training."

"I'm your bestest friend in the whole wide world, Flaxie," she sings back through her laughter. "I know you'd never betray me to the other side."

"I might think about it if you don't both make yourselves decent and meet me in the corridor."

"Whatever you say, Commander Paylor," they chorus simultaneously, and I scowl back at them before leaving the room and quickly closing the door behind me.

Cali tells me to come in as soon as I knock on her door, and I find her perched on the edge of her bed as she changes the dressings on her hand. Her burns have healed a lot now, but the skin is still weak and weapons training isn't helping. Not that she'd ever admit that to me, especially when she thinks she might be told she can't fight because of it.

"Do you want me to help you?"

"After last time?" she replies with a smile. "I don't think that's the best idea."

"Fair point," I say, shrugging my shoulders and sitting on the only chair in the room. "Are you coming to dinner?"

She nods. "Did you see Zib? She said she wasn't going to training because she was sick, but something wasn't right."

"She wanted a day without a timetable," I reply, trying not to laugh. "So she's spent the whole day in bed by the look of her. Not that she's been asleep."

"Isn't it such a funny coincidence that both Zibeline and Lucan got sick at the same time?" she says with mock lightness.

"It's strange how these things happen, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>I had planned to spend my next day in District Thirteen in training with the others, but once I'd put my arm inside the contraption on the wall and checked my tattooed timetable, it soon became clear that wasn't going to happen. Instead of training, I have to be in Command. All day.<p>

"What's wrong?" asks Poplin as she waits for her own tattoo.

I look up at her, shrugging my shoulders because I hadn't thought I'd made my thoughts so outwardly obvious.

"Command," I reply quietly. "I guess I'm just not in the mood for arguing and debating."

"You'd rather be part of Squad 800 than Squad 1300?" she says, her amusement showing clearly in her dark-brown eyes.

"Something like that," I reply, smiling at the thought.

Once we passed basic training, they did as they'd promised and assigned us all to small fighting groups they call squads. I'd quickly found myself in Squad 800 with Zib, Cam, Cali, Lucan, Eliza from Thirteen, her brother and Soldier Johnson, who had apparently requested a transfer. I still haven't had chance to ask him why.

However I didn't work out the meaning of the numbering system until, to my utter amazement, Heavensbee eventually explained that I had been given command of an entire division of the rebel army. Baize, Darry, Luce, Adaira and some of the others have been given command of squads of their own, but all of them report to me. And that's why we're Squad 800. 8 for District Eight and 00 because I'm the overall district leader. The joke Poplin's talking about started when we discovered Coin and her lackeys have the honorary title of Squad 1300. The thought makes me both try to imagine Coin actually fighting and wonder which squad Heavensbee puts himself in.

"If I have to go through that obstacle course again…"

I turn around at the sound of Zib's voice drifting down the corridor, and I see her striding towards me with Lucan, Adie and Cam trailing along behind.

"I'll help you," replies Lucan teasingly. "I know how defenceless you are."

He laughs when both Zib and Adie spin around and hit him, and before I know it he's standing by my side with Adie thrown over his shoulder.

"I've told you so many times before. This one's trouble, Commander Paylor," he says, lowering her back to the ground like he doesn't notice her struggling.

"Tell me something I don't know," I reply, smiling before quickly becoming serious again. "I'm sorry about District Two," I offer, not really knowing what else to say. I'd wanted to mention it last night, but then I was even less capable of finding the right words than I am now.

"So am I," he says. "Something had to be done but trapping people inside a mountain and letting them burn to death… If we start doing things like that then we're no better than the people we're fighting against."

I nod but narrow my eyes at the same time to tell him that here probably isn't the best place to be saying what he's really thinking. He shrugs his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his too-small jumpsuit so much I expect the seams to go, and his expression tells me that he's getting to the point where he's going to decide he doesn't care what the Thirteens do or think.

"I'll see you all later," I say, preparing to start the long walk downwards.

"Aren't you coming to the firing range?"

"I can't, Cam," I reply, shaking my head. "Command meeting. Again."

"Tell them we're ready to fight," calls Adaira. "Now."

"What makes you think they'll listen to me?"

* * *

><p>When I get to the now familiar room, only Dalton is there. He'd been carefully examining the holographic map of the Capitol which still hangs in the air above the glass table, but he turns his dark eyes to me when the door closes with a soft creak.<p>

"I think they're planning this party without us," he whispers, glancing to Coin's usual seat at the head of the table.

"I don't know what you mean," I reply cautiously, beginning to think I know exactly what he means because he's only saying what I've been thinking for a while.

"Really, Commander Paylor," he says disbelievingly, mimicking Coin's officious tone with startling accuracy. "I'm not convinced you're being entirely truthful."

"Can you blame me?"

"No, but I think there'll be a time when we…cease to be useful, and I think we both know that."

"I've fought one dictator, I'll fight another," I say flatly, and I'm surprised when he smiles in response.

"I thought so," he says knowingly, and though he looks like he wants to continue, he doesn't get chance because the door swings open again.

Heavensbee and a very stressed-looking Fulvia walk in, closely followed by Narissa, who has somehow managed to completely transform herself into a woman I imagine greatly resembles the one she was back in the Capitol despite Thirteen's lack of resources. It's only when I look closely at her outfit that I see it's one of the white standard issue shirts, belted tightly at her tiny waist and worn as a dress. Unlike Heavensbee's assistant, she has no flowers on her face or any other obvious cosmetic enhancements, but she somehow manages to remind me of the big city more than the other woman ever did.

"We seem to be early, Plutarch," she says lightly, scanning the room until her piercing green eyes fall on me.

"I don't think you'll be able to stay here, Narissa," he replies, sounding unusually tentative in a way I've never heard from him before. "President Coin doesn't trust you."

"_I _don't trust _her_," she answers sharply. "And from what I've seen, I'm not the only one, am I?"

Her eyes are still fixed on me when she says that, and suddenly I don't know where to look. I've stared down factory overseers and fired anti-aircraft guns at Capitolian hoverplanes loaded with bombs, but for some reason I can't meet the gaze of this unarmed woman who probably weighs less than Adie.

"Don't be shy, Commander Paylor," she continues, her voice impossibly soft.

"Maybe I don't trust you," I reply suspiciously, eventually finding my voice.

"So abrasive," she says, laughing as if to herself. "Aida said you would be."

"What do you know of Aida?" I snap, thinking of the pathetic shell of a woman who survived the Hunger Games only to die in the hospital explosion.

"I felt sorry for her so I gave her a night off in the run up to the Quarter Quell," she replies, her words making my lip curl up in disgust because I know exactly what she means after hearing Finnick Odair on that propo. "She was telling me all about you and your rebellious little friends."

"Why?"

"Because knowledge is power," she says, turning back to the door just as I hear footsteps coming down the corridor outside. "We'll speak again when the time comes," she adds, and I exchange a partly worried and partly curious glance with Dalton just as Coin and her minions storm in and surround the glass table.

The debate begins again, but this time I don't let a lot of what they're saying drift over me. This time I listen to every word, because now I'm more convinced than ever that overthrowing Snow won't be the end.

And if knowledge is power then ignorance could be death.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I hope there are people out there still reading this... Thanks to those of you who have reviewed, including Emz, who I couldn't reply to. I really appreciate your support :)<em>**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

"Zib? I was beginning to think you'd staged an escape attempt," I say, deciding that my head aches too much after a whole day stuck in Command for me to consider moving when I hear the door slide open.

"It's not Zib," replies Cam, walking across the room and around the foot of my bed so he can look down at me.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, smiling until I sit up. Then I wince and lie back down again. My head still hurts. "Where's Zib?"

"Across the way," he replies, shaking his head. "Or at least I'm assuming she is. I've been mentally scarred enough these past couple of months so I didn't actually check. Zib and Lucan is something I don't need to see, so I was kind of hoping to stay here."

I move over to make space for him without thinking, but when I see the way he's looking at me, I forget my headache and my mind goes into overdrive in a way it hasn't for as long as I can remember.

"We might be dead next week, Flax," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Exactly. And one of us might still be alive when the other isn't. We're at war, Cam. If I let you stay here then we both know it won't just be a one night stand."

"It's already too late for that," he replies teasingly, but I'm not in the mood for jokes. Or for self-conscious embarrassment, it seems. In our life before the rebellion, I'd never have been so bold as to say what I just said.

"I'm being serious, Cam. You have to go."

"Fine. I'm going," he says, reaching behind me and entwining his fingers in my hair.

"Good," I reply, leaning into his touch and grasping a fistful of his dull, grey District Thirteen uniform so he can't move.

He falls back onto the bed with me, and suddenly the Capitol and District Thirteen don't exist and the rebellion doesn't matter. My world contracts to this room, to this bed, to him. I thought I wanted to be with him when we were sixteen, and in a way I did, but it was nothing like this.

But then he says those three words that bring reality crashing back down onto my shoulders like it never left. It doesn't matter that he means it. It doesn't matter that I liked him saying it. He can't love me, just like I can't love him. Heavensbee and Coin have their map of the Capitol. We could be invading within days. Now isn't the time for this, not when I could lose him in a heartbeat.

"Cam," I say, my voice impossibly quiet because I almost wish he wouldn't hear me. "I can't… I'm sorry, but I can't…"

* * *

><p>Cam doesn't call after me or try to follow as I flee blindly down the corridor. A small part of me's glad. Most of me wishes he would, especially when suddenly all I can see is the brief image I glimpsed of him watching me leave. He was looking at me like he expected my reaction, and I think that hurts more than anything.<p>

I don't know where I'm going. I don't think it really matters, certainly not to me. There's nobody here to stop me. That's one of the advantages to this uniform that's a slightly darker grey. The Thirteens on the night patrols recognise it instantly and don't even think of questioning me. It means I can keep walking and walking down endless identical corridors, and I only stop when I hear a voice singing.

It's coming from the other side of the only door in this stretch of grey that's slightly ajar. The rest are completely closed, but that's not what draws me forwards. When I get a little closer, I recognise the voice as belonging to the Mockingjay. It's that song she sang when they took her back to Twelve to film that propo, the haunting one that made us all stop to listen as soon as we heard the first line.

My instinct is to walk away. I haven't the first idea what I'd say to Katniss if I ever met her, and I don't much feel like making polite conversation anyway. However something makes my feet move forwards as if of their own accord, and I push the door open ever so slowly, eventually finding myself looking at a small room which has one wall totally covered in wires, computers and screens. But the person sitting in front of the largest one certainly isn't the Mockingjay, and the sight of him temporarily makes me forget my own troubles.

I take a tentative step inside, but the man at the desk doesn't seem to even register my presence. He must have heard me, but his focus remains entirely on the screen. It's Katniss singing the song playing in the background, but she isn't the woman on the film. This woman is older than Katniss, blonde instead of dark, and she has the bluest eyes I've ever seen. Cashmere de Montfort, the woman from One who died in the Quell.

"She's very beautiful," I offer, unsure of what I should say.

"Was," replies the man bitterly, and when he spins his chair around so he's facing me, I recognise him instantly.

Minister Falco Hazelwell. I'd seen him enough times on the Capitolian television broadcasts I'd been forced to watch back before the uprising so I'd recognise him even if I hadn't been right there in Command when he arrived here. He'd been a loyal servant of the government, or so everyone had thought. In reality he was a man who'd been part of the original plan to bring Snow down, who'd been plotting against the president for years. He'd also loved a Victor. Cashmere.

"I don't think she'd thank you for listening to _The Hanging Tree_ or whatever it's called."

"What do you want, Soldier?" he asks, turning the volume down but leaving the film playing. It seems to take a massive effort for him to drag his eyes away from Cashmere to face me.

"Commander," I say, correcting him without even thinking about it in a way I wouldn't have even dreamed of only a few weeks earlier. "And I don't want anything. I heard the singing, that's all."

"Falco," he says by way of introduction, extending his hand to me. I can see from the way he narrows his black eyes that he knows me now. He remembers that day in Command.

"Flax," I reply, shaking hands and then sitting down. "What are you doing down here?"

He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at the screen. Cashmere's getting out of a black car in the Capitol. He appears in the shot shortly after, offering her his arm and leading her towards the massive City Circle house in front of them. She smiles up at him, a secret smile that I only see because I know to look for it.

"The year her brother's tribute won the Games," says Falco. "Back when we thought we were fooling the whole world."

"Weren't you?"

"Not in the end," he replies bitterly. "Not at all. He knew all along. It should have been me, but he killed her instead. And now he's going to pay."

"That's why you took the map out of the Capitol and brought it here?"

"You ask a lot of questions, Flax. Or do you prefer _Commander Paylor_?"

"Flax is fine," I answer guardedly, his tone making me abruptly remember who I'm talking to.

He shrugs his shoulders with the grace that comes from much practice. I suddenly wonder how many times President Snow has seen him make the same gesture.

"Are you on our side?" I say, asking so bluntly that I'm sure Zib would be as proud of me as she would be shocked.

"Depends on who you mean by 'our'. I was on her side," he replies flatly, nodding in the direction of the television screen. "Now I'm fighting for whoever brings Snow and his government down. That's all I have left."

"I think both your friends who came here with you would disagree, judging by the way they look at you anyway. I'd bet they're as loyal to you as you are to them."

"Perhaps," he says eventually, but once he turns his attention back to the television screen, he doesn't say another word.

"Can I trust Redsparrow?" I ask, turning around to look back after I've got up and crossed to the door.

Minutes pass by and he doesn't speak, but I stand and wait anyway.

"For now," he answers, waiting until I'd been on the verge of giving up. "While Coin's alive and in power, she sees you as an ally. But Panem help you if she ever sees you as an opponent."

"Panem help _her_, more like. I've seen too much to be afraid of a Capitolian's fancy words."

"We'll see the truth of all this soon enough," he says. "And I'm sure we'll meet again, Commander Paylor."

I don't know what to say to that, so in the end I don't say anything. I step out into the corridor and close the door softly behind myself. I try to suppress my fear, but all I can think is that I didn't come here for this. I came here to join the rebel army and go to the Capitol to fight. I didn't come here to fall into the middle of all this politics and scheming. And however much I refuse to admit it to anyone but myself, I haven't a clue what I'm doing, not really.

It's times like this when I almost wish I was back behind the guns in Eight. At least when I was there, I understood what I had to do. This place might as well be another world.

* * *

><p>When we passed basic training, we all thought we'd be on our way out of here. But we couldn't have been more wrong. Five weeks have passed since that day on the Block, and we're still stuck in Thirteen, watching Hunger Games Victors get married and waiting for Coin and Heavensbee to make up their minds to attack. I thought once they had the map that Falco Hazelwell smuggled out of the Capitol, they'd decide to fight, but no, there's always more talking to be done. I'm starting to think they're getting a bit too used to the power and control they have over this place and everyone in it. But maybe the war's just made me cynical.<p>

However this morning is different. This morning I've been summoned to Command as the leader of Squad 800 rather than as Commander Paylor of District Eight, and that can only mean one thing. This is the beginning of the end. We're finally going to leave here and go somewhere closer to the Capitol, though exactly where, I couldn't say. No matter how many Command meetings I've attended, there are some things that Coin and her inner circle share with no one.

"Good morning, Commander Paylor," says Heavensbee brightly as soon as I walk into the room.

"Good morning," I reply, forcing myself to smile slightly in response even though I don't feel like doing anything of the sort. "You sent for me," I continue, scanning the room and finding that Coin and her entourage are nowhere to be seen.

"Yes," he says, drawing me over to the massive map on the wall with a sweep of his arm. "I'm sure a woman of your intelligence has already worked out that our move to liberate the Capitol is imminent."

"Of course," I answer, thinking that 'liberate' is an interesting way to put it but forcing myself to remain silent. "And I assume I'm here because you've finally decided to send us somewhere else."

The former Head Gamemaker picks up a pencil from the top of the cabinet beside him and points to the map. To my amazement, he's pointing straight at District One.

"As you know, before we reach the city itself, we have to take the mountains and the tunnels that lead into it. Those who will be involved in that initial attack will be stationed in District One for a short time. Until the…right moment."

"District One? But surely that's the district that had the closest links to the Capitol. Is that not a bit…risky?" I ask, thinking it's a bloody stupid idea but not wanting to be quite so blunt.

"There have been a lot of changes in One since Satin de Montfort became mayoress," he replies, and the name immediately makes me think of the two siblings who died in the Quell, of Falco Hazelwell sitting alone in the dark and listening to Katniss singing _The Hanging Tree_. "I have complete confidence that she will do everything in her considerable power to support the revolution."

"Because of Gloss and Cashmere?"

"Yes, primarily. Although she isn't without ambition for herself and her family either."

"When do we leave?" I ask, not entirely convinced that I won't go there to find yet another power-hungry person as desperate for control as Coin, Snow and the man before me.

"Midday. The seventh and eighth divisions first."

I nod and step back. "Then I should go and prepare. And give the good news to the others."

"Good news?" says Plutarch sceptically.

"The only way we'll truly be free is if we take the Capitol," I reply. "And if we have to spend another week locked up in this place then I'm not the only one who's going to go crazy."

He looks at me with what I take to be disbelief, but he says nothing. I spin on my heel and quickly leave the room before he changes his mind.

* * *

><p>"That's it!" I call, shouting at the top of my voice to make myself heard across the firing range, where various soldiers are standing around and taking advantage of a lack of supervision. "They've finally had enough of you and they're throwing you out of Thirteen!"<p>

They all turn to look at me and they all cheer. I hope nobody who was born here is listening.

"Are we going to the Capitol?" asks Baize as they all gather around me in a loose circle.

"Eventually," I reply. "They're sending us to One first."

"So we're finally going to get to see how the other half live?" shouts Luce from the back of the group.

"Can they be trusted?" asks Cam at the same time. "When I think of District One, I think of their killer tributes in the Games."

"Heavensbee says they can," I say, struggling to meet his eyes as my mind is flooded with memories of last night. "And I suppose he's more likely to know than anyone."

"Do you trust _him_?" he replies, speaking as if it's the most important question in the world.

"No, not entirely, but you know me, so you know I don't trust anyone. I think we can trust him in this though. It's too much to risk to take if they're not certain."

"Fine," he says, stepping forwards so purposefully that the others all follow.

"Go and get your stuff then. The hovercrafts leave at midday."

They all file past me, patting my back or touching my arm as if I'm some kind of good luck charm. I roll my eyes and make a joke of it, but it still makes me stop to think. We've all been so desperate to get out of here that we haven't really thought about where we're going. We're at war and that means that not everybody walking past me now is going to live to walk past me again when it's all over.

"I'm offended, you know," says Cam, his voice breaking through my thoughts, and I quickly look up at him. It's only when I see his smile that I know he's not being entirely serious. "I thought you trusted me."

"I do trust you."

"You said you don't trust anyone."

"You're you," I reply. "You don't count. But we have to go."

"I meant what I said to you last night," he says, refusing to move even when I pull on his sleeve. "It's always been you."

"I thought you wanted to marry a girl from up by the station," I say, trying to ignore my racing heart and the beginnings of tears forming in my eyes. "You tried it on with enough of them over the years."

"And didn't you ever wonder why I never stayed with any of them? Why I never went home with any of them even when they would have let me? For someone smart enough to plan an uprising against the Capitol, you're damn stupid sometimes, Flax Paylor."

"But… The war, Cam. The Capitol…"

"Fine," he replies, sighing deeply. "I can wait. But once this war's over, you're going to give me a proper answer. I mean it. I'd drop it forever if I thought you didn't feel the same, but you do. I know you do."

I stare back at him because I don't have the strength to deny it anymore, and it's only when a new group of soldiers files onto the firing range that I manage to look away. The Mockingjay is with them, dressed in a military uniform and ready for war. She seems so young until she turns to face us and I see her eyes. Her eyes look older than time itself.

* * *

><p>"Flax, can I talk to you?"<p>

I'd been packing ammunition into the hold of one of the hovercrafts, and when I hear that voice, I stop but don't turn around. I can't turn around, because I haven't heard it for so long but I'd recognise it anywhere. I carry on packing.

"Flax?"

I knew they were here. I saw their names on one of the lists. They were amongst the first to leave Eight for Thirteen when I announced the evacuation. They didn't come to see me and I didn't go to see them, and eventually too much time passed for any meeting between us to be anything other than awkward.

"Yes?" I reply, my voice shaking as even that simple word catches in my throat. I don't turn around.

"Are you going to the Capitol?"

"Obviously," I retort, gesturing around at the chaos that surrounds us.

Unfortunately that movement is enough of a change in position that I see her out of the corner of my eye. Just her, alone and in a jumpsuit rather than full military uniform. We don't look much alike. I take after Pa and Grandpa, but she looks like Ma, tall and thin and delicate.

"What do you want, Weft?"

"To see you for myself. To see what you've become."

"And now you've seen me," I say, uncertainly rather than unkindly. She might be my sister but we're virtual strangers and I have no idea what to say. "Not there, Luce," I shout suddenly when my friend attempts to balance some guns on top of the ammunition boxes. She grins at me and moves them, but I see Weft's startled jump out of the corner of my eye. More than anything she could have said, it confirms that our differences are the same as they've always been.

"How are you?" she asks tentatively.

"I'm fine," I say, not even considering telling her the truth. "I'll be a lot better when this is all over. How about you? Where's Ma?"

"She…she doesn't know I'm here."

No matter how many years that pass without her, even though I hardly remember her from my early childhood, my heart still sinks at the implication that she doesn't want to see me. And if we win the war then there'll be no more reapings. I only ever saw her on Reaping Day, so if we win the war then maybe I won't see her again.

"How are you finding Thirteen?" I ask, eventually getting my words out at the same time as thinking that this really isn't anything like a conversation between two sisters should be.

"Not too bad. We have a compartment on one of the upper levels and they've got us stitching uniforms."

I nod, partly because I knew that already. Just because I was too much of a coward to go to see them, that doesn't mean I didn't find out where they were.

"They've got two of the best women for the job then," I say awkwardly, trying to smile.

I've never been more grateful to see Luce as when she bounds over to me seconds later after having obviously disposed of the guns somewhere else, loudly reminding me that it's almost time to go. She stops mid-sentence and stares at Weft curiously.

"We don't see much of you normally," she says testily, telling me that she knows exactly who she's talking to. "Do you want to come to the Capitol with us?"

"Luce, don't," I say, speaking as Flax rather than Commander Paylor. "Please."

"We're about to go," she repeats. "Zib needs you."

"Is Adie down here?" I ask, knowing instantly what she means.

"Dressed in her Mockingjay best and telling Commander Boggs that she's coming with us," replies Luce, seemingly torn between disapproval and amusement.

"I'm on my way in a minute," I say, but when I turn back to Weft, she's not there.

"We're your real family, Flax," says Cam, cautiously approaching me while looking back towards the door to the underground compound, which I'm guessing is the direction my sister vanished in.

"It's not her fault we're strangers, Cam," I reply, already starting to look for Zib. "It's the Capitol's."

"Which means it's not your fault either," he says as we cross in front of several hovercrafts, reading my mind with scary accuracy.

"And what are you going to do if you come with us?"

Lucan's voice drifts over to us, accented unlike any other here, and I'd instinctively know he's talking to Adie even if I couldn't hear her reply.

"Fight," she says, and when I turn a corner around another hovercraft, I see her standing in front of Zib and Lucan with a rifle in her hands. "I can shoot, I'll prove it to you. Watch."

She raises the weapon and aims it at a row of targets as far away from any of the people milling around the crafts as she can get, but suddenly all I see is a twelve-year-old with a loaded gun in the middle of a crowd of people who are paying no attention to her at all. She's fired a bullet before I can react, but then she stops dead at the sound of my voice.

"Adelaide Pershing, put that weapon down right now!"

Every person here freezes and then spins around to stare at us. After a few seconds they start whispering to each other and pointing at the targets. When I take a look, I can see the fresh bullet hole in the head of President Snow's photograph as clearly as they can. I guess Zib wasn't lying when she said she taught her little sister how to shoot.

"I… I just want to come with you," says Adie, remaining upright and steady even though I can see her lower lip trembling and know she wants to run to Zib. "I don't want you all to leave me here again."

"Firing a gun in the middle of a crowd of people like that isn't any way to go about changing my mind," I reply sternly, narrowing my eyes at her because I can't make light of what she did. "Besides, you know you can't come with us, don't you, Adie?"

She finally loses her self-control and throws herself at Zib, wrapping her arms around her sister's waist like she's never going to let go.

She only looks up in response to the loud bang that makes us all do the same. My eyes find the targets again and this time I see the handle of a knife protruding from the president's throat. I turn back to see Astraea Rossetti standing a short distance away, together with the young woman she was with that day in Command after the Capitol finally lost District Two. Velia. The Victor's daughter.

"Domani," she says, inclining her head slightly to Lucan, who mirrors the gesture in reply.

"Rossetti," he answers, smiling almost imperceptibly.

"Can I help you?" I ask, watching her curiously. "Are you coming with us?"

"Unfortunately not," she says. "I'm mentally disorientated," she adds, scowling as she raises her arm so I can see her wristband. "Which really means that I know too much about both sides for them to let me go too far from Command."

"Did you throw that knife?" asks Adie, gazing up at Velia with what I can only describe as awestruck jealousy. "How?"

"My mother taught me," the girl-woman replies, throwing her thick, wavy hair behind her shoulders. "If you stop being such a baby then I might teach you."

"Really?" says Adie, loosening her grip on the front of Zib's uniform just a little bit. "Would you really?"

"If that's okay with your mother."

"Sister," corrects Zib, too intrigued by the situation to sound offended as she glances pointedly at Lucan.

He shrugs his shoulders at her, but I keep watching him, and I don't miss the way he smiles knowingly at Astraea. He'd planned this, put the other woman up to it as a way of making Zib's parting from Adie a little easier for them both to bear, and that makes me grateful my best friend seems to have chosen him in a way I wasn't before.

"Go on then," Zib says, resting her hands on Adie's shoulders. "I'll expect a demonstration when I get back from the Capitol."

"You will come back, won't you, Zibby?"

"When the alternative is to let District Two arm you with knives and then leave you to your own devices in a confined space? Of course I will."

"We have to go," I say to nobody in particular as all of the District Thirteen hovercraft pilots seem to look at their watches simultaneously.

* * *

><p>It takes us nearly two days to get to District One, and many of the rebel soldiers from other districts complain about the heat or the cold or the food or the sleeping arrangements virtually constantly throughout that time. There's always something bothering them, but for once it seems we have something in common with the Thirteens, even if it is only that we've both known much worse so we don't feel the need to moan.<p>

"Are we nearly there yet?" asks Adaira, still polishing her gun in a way that makes me think she's asking because she can't wait to try it out on the Peacekeepers who still guard the big city.

"I think so," I reply. "They said two days and it's nearly been that."

"This is it," says Johnson, interrupting our speculation with his own certainty. "We're here."

"Have you been here before then?" asks Zib curiously.

"Listen," he replies. "Listen closely."

"To what?"

"The engines sound different," he says, looking at us like we're stupid for not understanding sooner. "It means we're going to land.

* * *

><p>The fiercely hot sun beats down on our heads as soon as we climb down from the hovercraft. I look around to see a street lined with buildings in one direction and seemingly endless fields in the other. There are soldiers everywhere, their grey uniforms looking out of place in a bright, summery place like this, and I can see them scanning their surroundings, waiting to be told what to do. After a couple of seconds, I abruptly remember that is my job, but before I can find a high place to stand so they can all see me, another voice rings out, loud and clear like a bell.<p>

"Welcome to District One!" calls the voice, and I spin around to see a woman standing on the back of a military truck.

I'd guess she's about my age, pale-skinned and dark-haired, with a determined, stern look on her face which stops her from being what the Capitol would call beautiful. Her clothes are what I've come to call 'Mockingjay Commander Grey', but they're certainly not made from the same fabric as my own. The suit she wears is immaculately tailored and cut as if it was made specifically for her. However it does little to disguise the fact that she's at least six or seven months pregnant.

"_That's_ Satin de Montfort?" hisses Zib, her voice so low only I can hear. "I thought she was the big boss out here. So what's she doing talking to the likes of us?"

"Listen," I snap back in response, still staring at the woman in front of me.

"My name is Satin de Montfort," she continues when she's sure she has everyone's attention. "I am the Mayoress of a District One that is free of Capitol control. And in the name of Gloss and Cashmere, my murdered brother and sister, Soldiers of the Rebellion, I open its gates to you!"

The people who surround me all cheer, reminding me of that day in District Eight when we first drove the Peacekeepers out, and I soon find myself cheering as well. When I look more closely at the truck Satin is standing on, I immediately see the camera crew hovering a short distance away. They must be filming another propo, and I'm suddenly surprised the woman from District One is allowed to get away with not mentioning the nation's beloved Mockingjay.

As we walk to the front of the crowd, I exchange a look with Cali that tells me she was thinking exactly the same thing. We're only a short distance away by the time I turn back again, and we watch as a tall blond-haired man helps Satin down from the back of the truck. He's clearly trying to persuade her to let him drive her back to the city centre where we're all headed, but she shakes her head dismissively, adjusts her jacket over her belly and walks straight to the head of the troop line. The first thing I notice is the wide grin on the face of the Capitolian-looking cameraman.

"Let's move then," I say, looking back at everyone waiting behind me. "We can't have the Thirteens thinking we don't know what we're doing."

When I say that, everyone immediately stops what they're doing and gets into formation. Before we know it, we're marching down the wide paved street behind Satin and her people with the soldiers from District Thirteen following along behind.

* * *

><p>Central District One is like nothing I've ever seen before. I've seen it on screen when I've been forced to watch the reaping for the Games, of course, but that could never have prepared me for what it's like in real life. The streets are all perfect and neatly paved, lined with houses which seem to increase in size with every one we pass. Even the chronically unemotional Thirteens are gazing around in amazement. I don't know where to look.<p>

"If this is One then what's the Capitol going to be like?"

"It can't be grander than this," replies Cam, not looking at me because he's too busy staring around at the impossible luxury that surrounds him. "This is like something out of one of your Grandpa's stories."

"Probably," I say. "He said he came here once, when he was very young. Before the segregation."

"Look at them all," says Zib, speaking before Cam can reply as she watches the citizens of District One as they line the streets to see the rebel army their mayoress has welcomed amongst them. "Why are they all staring?"

"Because we probably look as strange to them as they do to us," answers Lucan, who is probably the only one of us who appears totally oblivious to his surroundings.

"Have you been here before?" I ask, and when he shakes his head, I abruptly remember that he used to be stationed in the Capitol. He's probably lived in places like this for as many years as he's lived in the district where he was born.

"Where are we going?"

Just as Zib asks, we emerge into a square at least four times the size of the one back home. It's lined with neatly maintained shops which are a complete contrast to the empty, virtually derelict versions I've known all my life but never had enough money to venture into.

"Here, I'm guessing," I reply, scanning the vast space and finding several of the very high-ranking District Thirteen commanders congregating at the foot of the Justice Building's stone steps. "Wait here."

After checking they're all remaining together and doing as I asked, I quickly cross the square, stopping a short distance away from the commanders. I can't remember most of their names, and when they look at me, it's an effort to make myself salute as I don't truly consider them to be my superiors. Besides, even if I did, I feel stupid when I salute so I wouldn't bother if I didn't have to.

"We're to remain here until we're told differently," says the nearest man, as formal as only someone from Thirteen can be. "Give your squad number to one of our District One allies and they will show you to your quarters. Tomorrow there will be a meeting in the Town Hall and I'll expect you there."

Tempted though I am to tell him that he can expect all he likes because I've had enough of meetings and won't go to even one more, I simply nod and turn away. However as soon as I begin to walk back towards the others, I'm interrupted by a neatly dressed woman about my age. Her suit couldn't be much more different to my uniform and there's something ethereal about her that reminds me of a much more traditionally beautiful version of Weft. Once again, I don't quite know where to look.

"Are you Commander Paylor?" she asks, staring across at me with pale blue eyes. "Squad 800?"

I nod, suddenly feeling like the clumsy pre-teenager I once was in comparison to this otherworldly creature beside me, and jerk my head in the direction of Cam, Zib and the others. "They're 800."

"I'm Opal," she replies, lowering her voice and resting her hand on my arm to draw me further away from the District Thirteen soldiers. "Personal Assistant to Mayoress de Montfort."

I turn to look at her without pausing, narrowing my eyes questioningly as I wonder why she thinks I need to know that.

"Mayoress de Montfort has heard all about your exploits in District Eight and District Thirteen from Mr Heavensbee," continues Opal quietly, and her almost furtive expression makes me think there's a lot more to this than first meets the eye. "She asked me to ask you if you'd have dinner at her house tonight. If you wish then I can come to collect you at seven."

"And is this a dinner party for all of the rebel commanders?" I ask, narrowing my eyes even further.

"If you didn't already know the answer to that then you wouldn't be asking me," she replies quietly, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth as she smiles slyly.

I incline my head even though all I really want is to run and hide. Satin de Montfort's assistant is so perfect that she's starting to intimidate me, so I dread to think what I'd feel if I was faced with the Mayoress herself. And it's bad enough that I'm considered high enough in the ranks to be in charge of an entire division of the rebel army, but to get involved in politics as well, even more than I was forced to back in Thirteen? I'm pretty sure the likes of Satin de Montfort would eat me alive without a second thought, and a voice in my head that sounds strangely like Grandpa's keeps telling me that he very much doubts Coin will be invited to this dinner either. Am I really ready or willing to put myself in opposition to someone like her?

"I'll have to think about it," I say, trying to buy myself some more thinking time without offending anyone.

"I'll come to fetch you anyway," replies Opal brightly, flashing that almost Capitol-worthy smile again. "If you're…otherwise engaged then just don't answer the door."

I give her a half smile, hoping I don't look too awkward. The next thing I know, I'm back with the others again and Opal is telling us to follow her across the square as she points in the direction of one of the massive buildings.

"What did she say?" asks Zib, missing nothing as usual. "Who is she?"

"She was talking about the weather," I reply lightly, reverting back to the code we always used to use as a way to refer to something else that can't be said out loud. "And about where we'll be staying while we're here."

"How very interesting for you," she says, but I've known her long enough to be able to tell that she understood what I really said. "But at least here might be more fun than Thirteen."

"We're at war, Zibeline," says Cali, halfway between stern and anxious in a way only she can achieve. "We're not supposed to be having fun."

"But look," is the reply she gets as my friend pulls her sleeve back. "No schedule. That's got to be an improvement. And there's a Peacekeeper who was once stationed in Eight who I've been looking for and haven't found yet. It'd break my heart if I never saw him again. If he's still alive then I've got a bullet in my gun that's got his name written all over it."

"The Capitol's a good place to start," I tell her quietly, not quite feeling able to say anything to prevent or discourage her when I know exactly which Peacekeeper she means.

My eyes meet Lucan's for a split second, and I immediately realise my friend told him everything about what happened when Adie got sick. The expression on his face makes me think that he'll be the one firing the gun if he finds Zib's target before she does. I look at my friend and decide I wouldn't try to prevent it.

* * *

><p>We all follow Opal down one of the side streets leading off the main square, and it isn't long before she stops in front of a set of plain double doors. Despite its size, the doorway still looks like a side entrance. The wall its set into leads all the way to the end of the street, and it makes me wonder what the front looks like. I exchange glances with Cali, trying not to appear too awestruck. I'm doubtful that it works.<p>

The room we find ourselves in a few minutes later is at least twice the size of my old home back in Eight. It's lined with small single beds that remind me of those I saw in the District Thirteen hospital. Except for the sparkling gemstones on some of the headboards. That's entirely District One.

"This is where you'll stay during your time here," says Opal, gesturing at the massive space in front of her. "But between you, me and the four walls, I don't think that will be for long," she adds, lowering her voice as she glances at me.

"All of us?" asks Lucan disbelievingly.

"So it seems, Peacekeeper," says Baize, his tone of voice making me wonder exactly when that name stopped being an insult. "Which means you and our Zibeline will be sleeping on opposite sides of the room if you know what's good for you."

A lot of the others laugh, and I join in without thinking when I see the look on my friend's face. But then Opal speaks again, drawing my attention back to her as the banter between the others continues.

"Your room is upstairs, Commander Paylor," she says, heading back towards the door and clearly expecting me to follow.

"I'll sleep here," I reply, dumping my bag on the nearest bed. "I'm one of them. I don't set myself apart."

She looks thoughtful as she nods her head at me. "But you'll think about what I said?"

"I said I would."

"Then I'll be waiting for you at seven," she replies, lowering her voice so the others don't hear.

"I said I'll have to think about it."

"Don't think for too long or it'll be too late"

"Too late for what?"

"Panem."

When she puts it like that, I'm not sure I can argue.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

By the time the clock in the main square sounds once for quarter past seven, I'm already awkwardly perched on the back seat of a huge black car as it slowly moves away from the house where we're staying.

I hadn't answered the door when Opal knocked. I'd made my mind up not to get involved with anything that may or may not be going on between the people of power in this war, and I was certain I wasn't going to change it. But then about five minutes ago, I did. I decided that I couldn't walk away even though I thought I'd be too late.

As it turned out, I wasn't. I opened the door to find Opal still there, straight backed and immaculate, smirking as she told me that she knew I'd make the right choice eventually. I'm still not sure what the right choice is, but I'm happy enough that my decision was the only one I could live with. Or I would be happy if only I could get out of this car.

"Is something wrong, Commander Paylor?" asks Opal, casually leaning further back into the seat beside me.

"I'm fine," I reply, hoping I don't look as sick as I feel. "I've just never been in a car before."

Her expression in response to that is comical enough to distract me into feeling slightly less nauseous. I try not to laugh, but I can't help it, especially when she shakes her head in disbelief as she answers.

"Really? Don't people have cars in District Eight?"

"Not the poor ones, no."

"But you're not poor. You're a commander."

"A few months ago, I sorted cloth in a textile factory and slept on a sofa that had been in existence long before the Dark Days," I reply flatly, not seeing the point in lying. "Are you so sure you want to be bringing a pauper like me to be seeing your boss?"

"Miss Satin won't care about that. She always tells me that it's who you are that's important, not where you come from."

Satin de Montfort abruptly goes up in my estimation considerably as the car glides to a halt. Opal opens the door and holds it for me, and I narrow my eyes at her as I climb out.

"We're here?" I ask, and when she nods, I narrow my eyes even further. "We could have walked. Why bother with the car?"

"More people will see us if we're walking down the street, Commander Paylor," she replies evenly. "I know they'll see us anyway, but there's no need to draw attention to ourselves unless we have to. And the District Thirteen commanders who come to dinner always want to go in the car."

"What exactly am I doing here, Opal?" I ask as she pulls me along a garden path and into a house that's easily as big as the District Eight Justice Building.

"Wait here," she says, abandoning me in the entrance hall without answering my question.

I start to call after her, but she's already gone.

* * *

><p>I stand there for what feels like hours, almost too afraid to move in case I dirty or break anything in the almost too-perfect space. Eventually, however, I give in and resort to my old habit of pacing around in circles. I think that's why I don't realise I'm not alone until I hear the voice coming from the stairway.<p>

"Who are you?"

I stop pacing and follow the direction of the child's voice until I find a pair of massive blue eyes staring at me from between the posts of the staircase.

"My name's Flax," I reply tentatively. "Who are you? Are you going to come out so I can see you?"

"Mother says I have to stay upstairs," she says, but the eyes retreat anyway, and seconds later I'm looking down at a girl of about six, her beautiful face surrounded by a mass of mahogany curls. "Are you one of her friends?"

"I'm not sure yet," I reply eventually, telling her the truth because I'm somehow certain this child will know if I'm lying. "Possibly."

She thinks about that for a minute, looking at me appraisingly, and then seems to come to a decision as she sits down on the bottom step.

"I'm Victory," she says. "But you can call me Vic. Everyone else does."

I smile, only then remembering District One's fondness of elaborate, fanciful names. "I like your hairclip," I offer, thinking that she might not appreciate the same teasing that used to have Adie and Taffy racing around the room and laughing.

"It was Aunt Cashmere's," she says, suddenly more serious than any child her age should have to be. "She's not here anymore because President Snow sent her away and then the evil District Seven woman killed her. I wish she could come back but Daddy says that she can't. He says she and Uncle Gloss are with Aunt Sapphire now."

I had my suspicions as soon as I saw her, because the resemblance between little Victory and the mayoress is unmistakeable, but now I know for sure that I'm talking to Satin's daughter.

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" she continues. "Because you're going to punish President Snow for all the bad things he's done. Daddy says that's what Mother's doing. He says that the president won't leave the Capitol because he's scared of Mother."

"Not half as scared of me as you'll be if you don't go upstairs to bed, my girl," interrupts Satin as she crosses the hallway towards us.

"I was only talking."

"Gossiping," Satin corrects, glaring at her daughter with more love in her eyes than anger. "And you know what gossiping does."

"Gives other gossips a reason to talk about you," replies Victory solemnly, standing up but still not going upstairs.

"Precisely. Now go upstairs to bed. Commander Paylor didn't come here just to stand in the hall."

I watch them with fascination, feeling so out of place in this house that I'd actually quite like to tell Mayoress de Montfort that I'd like nothing better than to stand in the hall for a bit longer. However it's not to be, and after pushing Victory in the direction of the stairs and watching to make sure she's really done as she was told, Satin leads me further into the house and holds a massive wooden door open for me. It's polished so much that it shines, and I'm glad she's holding it because I wouldn't dare touch it.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation," she says after telling me to sit down at the table and then sitting down herself.

I try to do as she says without touching anything breakable or knocking anything to the floor. I might have admitted to Opal that I've never been in a car, but I'm certainly not telling Satin de Montfort that I've never sat at a dining table before.

"I don't mean to be rude," I say, returning her smile without really thinking about it. "But why did you invite me?"

"Won't you have something to eat first?" she replies, delicately and politely evasive. "My husband will be- Here right now," she continues, stopping mid-sentence and correcting herself as the same tall blond man I saw helping her down from the truck this morning walks in and closes the door behind himself. "Miracle, this is the Commander Paylor we've heard so much about."

"I'm honoured," the man says, bowing to me in that Capitolian style that also seems to be commonplace here.

I just smile, not knowing what else to do because I've no idea where to put myself. I don't know whether to gaze around at my surroundings in awestruck silence, demand to know exactly what they want with me, or simply laugh at the ridiculous names people in District One give to their poor, unsuspecting children. Although having said that, he isn't my type, but if Luce was here then she'd probably think Satin de Montfort's husband looks quite miraculous, so maybe I shouldn't judge.

* * *

><p>"So," I say finally, carefully mimicking Satin as she puts her fork neatly down on her plate. "We've talked about the uprising in Eight and the formation of the rebel army, made small talk about the infrastructure of District One and eventually decided that the two of us aren't as different as we first thought. Now are you going to tell me why I'm here?"<p>

She stares long and hard at me, her head tilted ever so slightly to one side as if she's thinking intently. It feels like a lifetime passes before she finally speaks.

"You're here because rumours reached me that you…may be of the opinion that the presidential succession is not as clear cut as certain others believe it to be."

"Rumours?" I reply evenly. I wasn't made to deal with things like this. Give me a gun and I can point it at the enemy, but this is a very different kind of battle and it isn't one I've ever fought in before. "What rumours?"

"Ones that tell me you know a dictator when you see one, no matter what disguise they wear."

"That's true enough. But I don't know what makes you think I trust you. How do I know you're not recording every word I say?"

"You don't. But I'm not. Think about it, Commander Paylor. You might not be used to the world outside your uncivilised little district, but you're not stupid."

"And I don't have to stay here to be insulted by the likes of you," I snap back, riled by the derision in her voice. "In fact, I should be getting back."

"Don't leave," interrupts Miracle, holding his hands out as if to stop me even though he moves no closer.

"I shouldn't have said what I said," says Satin, her expression even and steady as she offers me an apology that isn't quite an apology. "Please. Stay."

"If you want me to stay then you're going to have to start explaining," I reply, sitting back down slowly.

"I agreed to become the mayoress so that I could be in a position to do what I'm doing now. To let the rebels use this district as a launch pad into the Capitol. And that was a long time before the Quarter Quell. I have worked, as my sister did and so many others with her, to make sure that we lived to see the day President Snow was cast down so low that he'd never rise again. I didn't risk my life so a woman like Alma Coin can steamroller in and take over before we're even truly free."

"I didn't…I didn't know."

"I'd be incredibly worried if you did," she replies, the vaguest hint of a smile passing across her face. "I wouldn't have been a very good spy if everyone knew the truth."

"I suppose not," I say, but even so, now I _do _know the truth, I can't help thinking that I should probably be more shocked than I am. Maybe it's looking across at the photograph of Gloss and Cashmere on the sideboard. It reminds me that, despite the district she calls home, she and her family have been as wronged by the Capitol as me and mine.

"So that's why I asked you here," she continues. "I asked you here to ask if I can count on you if the time comes."

"And who will sit in the president's seat? You?"

"Not necessarily," she replies cautiously. She knows I'm suspicious. "District One's enough for me. It always has been."

"So who?"

"Not Alma Coin. As for the rest, I was kind of imagining we'd sort it out when the time comes. Perhaps you'd like to volunteer," she adds, smirking to tell me she already knows exactly what my response will be to that.

"I didn't want to be Commander Paylor," I snap, knowing I'm being predictable but saying what I'm thinking anyway. "I certainly don't want to be President Paylor. Besides, what do I know about politics? Nobody in their right mind would follow me."

"So the people of District Eight are all clinically insane then?" she retorts immediately. "Because some of them followed your orders and went halfway across Panem to a place that'd been little more than a legend to them until a few short weeks ago. And the rest that haven't gone to Thirteen are going to follow you all the way to the Capitol."

"I didn't ask them to."

"No, you didn't. But they did anyway. What does that tell you?"

"That if they're not insane then they're really bad judges of character?" I suggest, and Miracle laughs even if his wife doesn't.

"It's not funny, Miracle," she growls, slamming her glass down on the table so hard that the candle holders shake. "I refuse to believe Cashmere and Gloss died for nothing. But they will have if I do nothing. If I do nothing and the Capitol falls to Thirteen then we'll probably have to quite literally bend the knee to Coin. And I won't do it. I won't. I'll die first."

"I really don't think it will come to that," I interrupt hastily, hoping to remind them of my presence so they decide to continue what seems to be an ongoing debate long after I've gone. "We won't let it."

She takes a deep breath. "If this ends how I think it will then will you stand with me against Coin and Thirteen?"

I look across the table at her, thinking about all the times I've sat at that glass table in Command and doubted what President Coin's said, doubted if her attitude and her opinions are really what I want to hear coming from the person who clearly imagines herself sitting in Snow's office. In the end, the answer I give to Satin de Montfort comes surprisingly easily.

"I will."

"Then get some sleep, Commander Paylor," she says, smiling faintly. "If my spies are right about what they've heard then you'll be moving out tomorrow. We take the Capitol and then the show will really begin."

"May the odds be ever in your favour," I quip back before I have time to think about it and stop myself.

There's nothing faint about the wicked grin I get in return.

* * *

><p>It's not until I see the clock in the entrance hall that I realise it's well after midnight. I hadn't thought I'd been away for so long, but I guess between trying not to get inescapably caught in some kind of web of intrigue I barely understand and trying not to use the wrong knife and fork at the dinner table, I must have lost track of time.<p>

It takes me a minute to work out what's weird, but eventually I decide it's that all of the lights are still on, even the massive chandelier that hangs from the ceiling. They're all about saving resources in District Thirteen and we rarely had electricity in Eight in the first place, but here in One they have no such concerns. If Satin's house is anything to go by then where we're staying must be the equivalent of the servant's quarters, but it's still a hundred times more luxurious than anything I've ever seen before.

"Now I just have to sneak in without anyone waking up and realising I haven't been there," I whisper to myself as I slowly and carefully climb the stairs.

However as soon as I reach the first landing and turn to look up, I know that's not going to happen. Zib's sitting on the top step, staring straight at me with an expression somehow torn between amusement and concern.

"I'd have been a lot less worried about where you were if Cam wasn't standing behind me," she says, smirking slightly as she stands up and four or five more shadows appear behind her.

As I get closer, the shadows resolve into a group of very familiar figures. Cam, Cali, Lucan and Adaira. Although I'm shocked to see the woman who styles herself as my second-in-command because I hadn't seen her since we first arrived here, I'm even more surprised to see Johnson behind her, leaning casually against the wall as his eyes follow my every movement.

"What are you all doing out here?"

"We're waiting for you," replies Zib. "We're…curious to know what Mayoress de Montfort had to say."

"She invites all of the commanders to dinner," I answer cagily, glancing quickly but pointedly at Johnson, who has lived in Thirteen for far too long for me to call him one of us. "It's not unusual, Zib."

"I'm on your side, Paylor," says Johnson, as if he knows I'm holding back because of him. "I left my home when the Peacekeepers murdered my family. Because the alternative was killing as many of them as I could before they killed me."

"The alternative sounds like a plan to me," interrupts Zib, who, not unusually, is the only one of us who can find words as we take in yet another tale of the Capitol's cruelty.

"I know," he says, his harsh, commanding voice losing some of its strength in a way I haven't heard before. "I would have done just that. They deserved it after what they did and I was strong back then, stronger than I am now. I'd have taken a lot of them with me and I'd have died happy. But when I got back and saw them all dead, there was one missing. I found my grandson hiding under his mother's bed, so I picked him up and ran. All the way to Thirteen. I did what I did for him. Coin and the one who came before her were the lesser of two evils. I owe her nothing."

I watch him for a minute, wishing I had Satin de Montfort's ability to spot a liar from a mile away, and he watches me as well, his pale eyes giving nothing away.

"Nothing happened," I say eventually, knowing I can't risk it even though my instinct tells me that he wouldn't betray me. "Nothing that means anything if we don't take the Capitol. But she did say that she thinks we'll be moving out tomorrow. So I'd sleep while you have the chance."

They all nod in acceptance and turn away, some more reluctantly than others, and I sigh with relief. How can I tell them what's happening when I'm not convinced that I know myself?

"You'll have to tell us sooner or later, Flax," calls Adaira as she pauses halfway up the stairs to the next floor and looks back at me over her shoulder. "If it's what I think it is then you'll need us."

"I know," I reply. What other answer can I give her but the truth?

"So long as you do," she says, and before I know it, she's disappeared from sight and I hear the soft click of a door opening and closing.

"She's more loyal to you than you think."

I turn back to see Johnson standing in front of the door. The others have all gone back inside.

"You should've heard her shouting at her squad in drill training. 'Do you want to disgrace your district?', she used to scream. 'Do you want to let Commander Paylor down?'."

"I didn't know."

"You wouldn't. She's too proud to be subservient to anyone to their face."

"It's not about subservience. I don't want that from anyone. It's about winning the war and getting rid of Snow. And any other dictator who thinks they can control Panem."

His knowing smile tells me I've said too much, but I can't bring myself to regret it. Whatever happens, the Capitol is the enemy right now, and if everything changes after that then it will happen anyway so there's no point worrying.

"Which district did you run from?"

"Eleven," he replies, shaking his head at my raised eyebrows. "Just because I don't fit the stereotype, it doesn't mean I'm lying," he adds, reaching back and opening the door before I can reply.

There's nothing I can do but follow him inside.

* * *

><p>I don't know how many hours pass as I lie in my bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the slow, steady breaths of the others as they sleep around me. I should be sleeping as well. I'll have to be awake if we're on our way into battle tomorrow, but as well as I know that, I still can't clear my head.<p>

What if we take the Capitol? Will Satin and her mystery allies make a stand against Coin and District Thirteen? Will I join them? And then what if we don't win in the Capitol? Will I be strong enough to swallow the purple pills concealed in my uniform? Will I have chance to? Will I have to watch Cam and Zib and the others die beside me?

I shake my head to clear it at that last thought. We've been through so much that I can't bear to imagine losing now.

I turn around to try and go to sleep, but as I do, the mattress dips as someone sits down. I can't see their face in the almost-darkness, but there's only one person it could be.

"What is it, Zib?"

"I knew you'd be awake," she whispers, getting up, pulling the covers back and lying down beside me like she used to when we were still at school. "So tell me. There's no one else to hear now. What's the honourable lady mayoress up to?"

My first thought is to either lie or tell her nothing. However she knows me too well for me to be able to lie convincingly, and I can't stand not telling anyone anyway. Once I get started, it doesn't take me long to relay the whole of the evening's events to her. I've told her everything for my whole life, so it isn't anywhere near as difficult as I thought it would be. It probably isn't anywhere near as difficult as it _should _be.

"So Satin's working with Heavensbee? They're going to stand against Coin if she tries to take over?"

"Basically, yes," I whisper back in reply. We're so close that I barely have to speak aloud at all. "She asked me if I'd join them."

"The two of them against the whole of Thirteen? No wonder they're looking for extra allies."

"I doubt it's just them, Zib. Heavensbee's been part of the Capitolian resistance for years. He won't be on his own."

"Do you think he's working with your little friend from Command?"

"Which particular one?" I ask, rolling my eyes even though I know she can't see me. They love to tease me about my many meetings in Command and referring to influential people as 'Flax's little friends' is becoming almost as popular as 'President Paylor'.

"The Capitolian. The one who looks at everyone like they're dirt on the bottom of her shoes."

"Narissa," I reply, failing to keep the suspicion from my voice as I think of her. "Probably. She knows

Heavensbee well enough. And she was part of the rebellion attempt that failed."

"What did you say to her? Satin, I mean."

"Yes," I reply eventually, taking so long to answer that she kicks me. "I don't know why I said it but I did."

"You said it because you believe it was the right thing to do," she says, sounding more serious than I've heard her for a long time. "None of us want to live under Coin's rule, Flax. We'll all stand behind you."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stand in front of me sometimes?" I ask, only half teasing.

"Everyone would still see you," she replies, also sounding like she's only half joking. "The shadow cast by the great Commander Paylor can be seen from anywhere."

"Shut up," I snap, trying to push her off the edge of the bed and then stopping because she clings to me and I know the only thing I'll achieve is waking everyone else up.

"Go to sleep, Flax," she says, curling up by my side like she's done so many thousand times before when our lives were so different to what they are now.

Her familiar presence relaxes me, and soon I find it impossible to disobey her order.

* * *

><p>"Why don't the Capitolians just blow the tunnels up?" asks the younger Soldier Edwards as we stare up at the mountainside several hours later.<p>

"Because if they do then they'll cut themselves off even more. The tunnels are their security but they're also what could keep them trapped inside," I reply, once again thinking how terribly young he seems. "Let's go."

"Hold on a minute, Flax," says Zib, moving to stand by my side so I can't keep walking towards the tunnels. "Are you sure he hasn't got a point? If I'm going to die then I don't want my death to involve being crushed to death under a mountain."

"The path's clear," I reply, raising my voice so they can all hear me. "The fighting's on the other side, on the edge of the city. You've seen as much film footage as I have."

I see a lot of them nod in agreement, and Zib takes a step back. What I said is true. We've all seen the propos. We've all seen the battle for the tunnels that took place before we arrived. I try not to think about all the dead and wounded soldiers that the propos didn't show. I only know about the sheer number of them because of my position. The others don't know and I haven't told them. There are some things it's better not to know.

Shaking my head to clear my mind, I raise my arm and let it fall. It still shocks me when everyone obediently moves into line and starts forward at my command. I try not to let it show, even when squad after squad takes up their position behind me.

If there's a reason beyond duty that I lead them into the virtual darkness of the tunnel, it's so they can't see the uncertainty in my face as I go.

* * *

><p>"What happens when we get there?" asks Lucan, deadly serious and not even allowing himself to glance at Zib.<p>

"I don't know," I reply honestly. "But we're nearly there so we're about to find out."

I stare ahead at the ever expanding patch of light, squinting against the brightness when we eventually emerge from the tunnel into the bright sunshine.

"Welcome to the Capitol, Commander Paylor," calls a dry and very familiar voice, and I look across to see Dalton, standing at the head of his squad.

He's obviously waiting for his next orders just like I am, which is why he appears to be as surprised as me when a grey uniformed man approaches us and calls us to a meeting.

"We're not getting anywhere because the Capitol keeps sending its planes over every time we try. And they have their anti-aircraft guns so we can't retaliate," says the District Thirteen commander nearest to me as we walk to meet the small group gathered by the tunnel entrance.

I stare at him for a second, thinking about what he said. But then I shake my head as I slowly back away, gazing speculatively up at the foothills of the mountains.

"_Commander Paylor_," he growls, sounding thoroughly put out that I'm not really listening to what he's saying.

"Flax, what is it?" asks Dalton curiously.

I've spent so much time with him over the past few weeks that he can read my expression well enough. He knows I'm planning something.

"Were all those guns taken out of Eight like I said?"

"Yes. They're back in One. President Coin said we won't need them. She says the invasion should carry on as it for now. The command's just come through to launch another attack. But if you ask me," he adds once he's lowered his voice significantly. "I just think she doesn't want the city any more damaged than it has to be."

I take a sharp intake of breath that comes out as a loud hiss of disapproval before turning back to look at the soldiers who came with me from home.

"Baize!"

"Commander Paylor," he replies, saluting sharply and moving closer instantly.

"Take your squad back through the tunnel. Get as many soldiers as you need to bring our guns out here. I'm not going to stand here and let our people die because Alma Coin wants a palace to rule from."

"On whose authority?" stammers a different man from Thirteen, staring at me as if he can't quite believe this is happening. "Decisions like that have to go through the proper channels of authorisation and approval."

"On my authority," I reply flatly. "Because it's what's best for this army. We're not in Thirteen anymore, Commander…Hodge," I continue, surprised to find the words streaming easily from my lips now I've finally started to say what I've been thinking since a long time before I left One. "And that means there's going to be a new set of rules. Baize. Go. Now."

"Yes, Commander Paylor," he replies, grinning from ear to ear as he salutes once more and promptly turns away towards the tunnel with his squad behind him.

"Baize!" He turns back. "Do it discreetly. Or as discreetly as you can."

"Very impressive," says Cam, whispering in my ear as soon as the low buzz of noise has restarted all around us. "Now what?"

"We delay the attack. Baize gets the guns. Quietly so they don't realise what we're doing until the last minute. And next time our soldiers attack, the Peacekeepers will send out their planes, but this time we'll be ready for them."

"But they'll see us from the Capitol," interrupts Zib. "You remember the kit they used to have at the factories as well as I do, Flax. They knew what we were doing before we did."

"And I'm betting they have exactly the same cameras in the tunnels," I reply. "But I'm also betting that your boyfriend knows exactly where they all are. Don't you, Lucan?" I continue, raising my voice so he can hear me.

"He's not my boyfriend," hisses Zib under her breath.

"Whatever you say, Zibeline," I sing back, before abruptly schooling my expression and becoming serious again. We're in the middle of trying to invade the Capitol. This is no time for joking around. "Lucan, take Cali and Eliza back through and wipe out as many of their cameras as you can. The general patrol will have got rid of the obvious ones, but they won't know where to look for the rest. And we haven't got much chance if the Peacekeepers can see us all coming."

Lucan nods and the other two move to follow him. However before he goes, he stops and finally looks at Zib.

"Stay alive," he says to her. "If you don't then I'll kill you."

She shrugs her shoulders. "I won't die if you don't, District Two."

We watch them until they've vanished from sight, but then I realise I've only done half a job here. The District Thirteen commanders will be telling Coin what I've done even as I think about it, and then it will be all over in so many different ways.

"Flax. Flax, look."

Cam stops tugging my sleeve when I turn to face him, but his hand doesn't leave my arm as he gestures to the group of soldiers approaching.

"It's the right thing to do," I call, hoping I sound convincing. "Surely you can see that."

"We see it, Commander Paylor. As long as your people hurry up with the guns then we'll delay the attack until they get back and are set up. But we haven't got long. The longer we leave it, the longer the enemy have to prepare their own attack."

"I understand that, Commander. So do my rebels. They'll be here before dawn."

"Then you should get some rest. It'll be a busy day tomorrow."

I nod and force myself to return his salute, hoping that the amazement I feel at how they're going along with my plan doesn't show too obviously on my face. If it does then none of them say so, but it's only when I sink down onto the nearest bedroll a few minutes later that my breathing finally begins to return to normal.

* * *

><p>The next thing I know, there's an insistent voice in my ear, calling for me to get up. It's a woman's voice, and she calls me Commander Paylor instead of Flax. Eliza. I sit up and she steps back, gazing down at me with tired eyes.<p>

"Soldier Sheridan wants to know where you want the guns, Commander," she says quietly, almost as if she thinks the Capitolians will hear her if she speaks too loudly. "They just arrived back."

I stand up in response, all tiredness temporarily forgotten, and when she turns away and heads out across the camp, I follow immediately.

"We'll never be able to do this without the enemy seeing," says Baize, leaning against one of the tent posts in apparent exhaustion. "It's impossible."

"It doesn't matter if they see now," I reply, unable to stop myself from grinning up at him despite the solemnity of the situation and the reason we're here. "It was when you were in the tunnels that I didn't want them to see. In case they tried to fly out to intercept you. Now the guns are here, they'll either realise what they're up against and not send in the planes, or they won't and we'll shoot them all out of the sky. Either way, we win and they lose."

He stares at me for a second and then shakes his head slowly. "I don't know where you get this stuff from, Paylor. Really, I don't."

When I take a step forwards, a lot of the rebel soldiers surrounding our group move back with something I'd call awe on their faces if they were looking at anyone but me. I don't see what all the fuss is about. The whole idea seems pretty obvious to me. It was hardly the work of a genius.

"Go on then," I say, waving a hand at them. "Coin called for the attack, didn't she? She won't wait forever. And if you don't start now then President Snow will have died of old age by the time you get the guns in position."

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, I find myself in the familiar position of crouching down behind an anti-aircraft gun with Zib beside me. The order to attack came from Thirteen a few minutes ago, and it won't be long now before we find out if the Capitol are going to send the planes out again or not. I can't decide if I hope they don't because I've had enough of killing or if I hope they do because if we can shoot them out of the sky now then they won't be able to hurt us later.<p>

"Here we go!" shouts Cam from the other side of the hill, and I turn to look in his direction even though I promised myself I wouldn't.

However my attention is soon drawn by the Capitolian planes as they drop their sight shields and begin to rain bombs down on the rebel soldiers surging into the city. I take aim and shoot, and when the wing of the plane I'd been targeting bursts into flames and the whole thing falls to the ground, it's suddenly just like being back in District Eight.

"Two!" calls Zib, grinning wildly at me as another hoverplane crashes down.

"I didn't know it was a competition!" I reply, firing another missile at a plane and missing because I wasn't concentrating.

"It's always been a competition," she says. "And I've always been winning!"

* * *

><p>By the time both sides decide to call it a day, the rebel forces have control of the outskirts of the Capitol and the Peacekeepers have been driven further back than ever before. I walk slowly down the wide paved street that's now lined with rubble and the smouldering remains of hoverplanes, and I know my decision to bring in the guns is what helped us today. If I hadn't then it would have been the same story as last time, and the Capitolians would have flown in and taken us out just like before.<p>

I didn't want to be a leader and I didn't want to kill, but as I look around, I eventually work out that what I'm feeling is pride. I made a difference today. A lot of people have lost their lives today, but if it hadn't been for my decision then many more rebels would have died.

As I arrive at the new camp, I hear the soldiers, even some of the Thirteens, cheering for Commander Paylor and District Eight. For once I can meet their eyes without embarrassment. We did something today, we made a difference, and maybe that will mean the war will be over quicker.

More than anything, all I really want is to see the fighting end.

* * *

><p><em><strong>So...as well as asking you what you think of the story so far, I have to ask - have you seen the movie yet? I have...<strong>_


	15. Chapter 15

**_Sorry I missed a week - the chapter wasn't quite ready and then I got distracted by Clove (as some of you noticed!)..._**

Chapter Fifteen

As soon as we reached the rebel encampment in the Capitol, we were consumed by it. The people already there provided us with tents, and soon after, we added them to the seemingly endless mass that occupies the outskirts of the city. They're grey fabric tents as dull as everything else that comes out of District Thirteen, but they're still better shelter than anything we had when we were back in Eight. Or at least they would be if anyone was sleeping in them. As it is, we're outside and huddled together for warmth because we can't bear the thought of feeling trapped inside an enclosed space. Not that anyone will admit it. I suppose they don't have to when it's so obvious that even Johnson and the pair from Thirteen can see it.

"I still don't see why we can't sleep in the apartment blocks," says Eliza, shuffling a bit closer to the fire with a scowl.

"You're not much like a typical Thirteen, are you?" asks Zib, who is the only one who hasn't complained once about the cold.

I suppose she wouldn't when she sits closest to the fire, safely ensconced in Lucan's arms. She won't feel the chill in the air.

She seems almost like a child next to him in the almost darkness when I can only see the outlines of their figures, but I know that in the cold light of day when they're heading into battle, the looks they'll give each other will expel that comparison before it even has time to form in my mind. I glance at Cam and try to suppress my jealousy even as I curse my irrepressible fear of being hurt that keeps me from his side of the fire as much as my rank ever could. Sometimes I think distancing myself from him is pointless. Deep inside I know I wouldn't hurt any less if I lost him, no matter what I do or don't do.

"Probably not," replies Eliza with her usual too-cheerful smile. "But I'll take that as a compliment when it's coming from you."

"I would," replies Cali, her voice shaking slightly as she shivers. "It's as close as you'll get to one."

"Can't we just attack already?" asks Cam, glaring across at the group of tents occupied by the commanders from Thirteen. "I've had enough of waiting even if they haven't."

"We will soon," I reply. "Just because we're stuck here, that doesn't mean everyone else is. Remember what I told you about the pods. If we all stream out down the streets then we'll be blown sky high in seconds. Or worse."

"Let me see the map," he says, getting up and bringing his bag and his bedroll to my side of the fire. "Explain it to me again."

I sigh and reach into the inside pocket of my jacket, struggling because I can't bear the thought of taking my gloves off, and eventually pull out the gadget that was passed to me shortly after I arrived here. A Holo, that's what the Thirteens call it, but to me it's just a map. Once I say my name, it produces a holographic image of the Capitol identical to the one I saw in Command that Falco Hazelwell smuggled out of the city. There are lights flashing all over it, some only a mere few blocks away from where we're sitting.

"So each light is some kind of trap the Capitolians have laid for us?"

"Kind of," I reply, unsure how to explain it properly.

"Not specifically now and for us," interrupts Lucan darkly. "For anyone who might try to make a stand against the government. To begin with after the Dark Days, they had guns and cannons, but then the citizens soon decided they didn't want big, ugly pieces of metal crowding their buildings and streets. And so the pods were developed. Deadly weapons that could be activated and deactivated very quickly and easily concealed from view."

"The Capitolian's ideal weapon," hisses Zib contemptuously.

"And the reason we're not launching a full-scale attack," I add, looking at each of them in turn. "They're sending squads out to target pods and cause diversions even now. It'll be our turn before we know it."

"Diversions?" asks Eliza, pulling her blanket higher on her shoulders.

"Because if we target only the pods then they'll know we have the map," says Zib quickly.

She answers the other woman's question like it's the most obvious thing in the world even though she hasn't been to any of the Command meetings I've been forced to endure. It's at times like this that I remember exactly how smart my friend really is, how wasted she was at the textile factory when the Capitol ran District Eight.

"Precisely."

"So how will we know it's our turn?" asks Will, glancing nervously at his sister.

"Because they'll tell us," Eliza replies, speaking with a shocking amount of dry, black humour for a Thirteen. "And when they do then we'll probably wish we'd never come here."

* * *

><p>It takes me hours to fall asleep, but when I eventually manage to, I sleep so deeply that it's an effort to raise my head up to the morning light when I wake. At first I'm not sure exactly why I'm not still asleep, but then I see the group of soldiers standing a short distance away, their commander hovering almost nervously in front of them. He's District Thirteen, I can tell instantly, but to me he looks little older than Adie. And ten times as terrified. The sight of him makes me wonder who he or his parents know in a position of influence, because I find it almost impossible to believe he earned his rank through his own military prowess.<p>

"Commander Paylor?" he starts tentatively, staring down at me in a way that makes me wonder if I've changed to resemble President Snow while I've been asleep.

"Do we have a mission?" I reply, sitting up to see the others waiting for his answer.

"I'm here for Soldier Pershing."

"Why?" I snap instantly, pushing my blanket to the side and almost jumping to my feet.

"Answer the question," growls Lucan, also getting up and moving towards the unfortunate man from Thirteen.

I look past him to see Zib extricate herself from their makeshift bed on the floor, clearly trying to mask her uncertainty and fear and probably succeeding with everyone but those who know her best.

"We have to… There's a pod…"

"Spit it out, Boy," interrupts Lucan, looking more amused than anything else as he tries to stand in front of Zib only for her to push past to stand at his side.

"We…we need to activate this pod. Command have said so. Only if we get close to it then we'll all be dead. So we need someone who can hit the right point and destroy it from a safe distance, but so many squads are out on missions that the nearest sharpshooter we've got is Soldier Pershing."

Lucan looks at me like he wants to protest, like he wants to say he'll go in her place. Only he can't. He's a good shot, but Zib's better and the whole division knows it.

"It's fine. I'll go. Fighting's what I'm here for, not sitting on the floor in the middle of camp."

"Zib…"

"Honestly, Flax, stop fussing. See if you can find me one of those camera crews though. I want Adie to see me blow up the Capitol. I promised."

I shake my head slightly, knowing what she said is wrong on so many levels. However at the same time, I can't bring myself to say anything against it. The Capitolians killed Gabby, along with so many others, and Adie knows that as well as any of us, no matter how young she is.

"This way, Soldier Pershing," urges the District Thirteen commander. "We have to go now, or the Peacekeeper patrol will be passing."

"You're going properly behind enemy lines?" snaps Lucan, stepping forwards so he's right in the other man's face, all thoughts of rank totally forgotten by both of them. "I don't think so."

We all stand and stare when Zib pushes them apart, the fierce look in her eyes making up for her lack of size and strength.

"I like you, Lucan Domani," she says, tilting her head back so she can stare unblinkingly up at him. "Panem help me, I might even love you. But I belong to myself, and I've got every right to choose to fight, just like you have. I know you want to protect me, but I don't need protecting. Not from this. Let me go, and I'll come back."

"You'd better," he replies eventually, taking a silver dagger from his belt and pushing it through hers.

She smiles and turns away, nodding in my direction before narrowing her eyes at the relieved looking man from Thirteen.

"Let's go then. Or the Peacekeeper patrol will be passing, and you wouldn't want that, would you?" she asks, sounding scarily like she wouldn't be all that disappointed.

* * *

><p>About two hours after darkness fell, a loud explosion echoes across the Capitol, waking those who are off-duty and making those on patrol reach for their weapons. In the distance there's an orange light, and the sky seems to glow with flames.<p>

"What in Panem was that?" exclaims Eliza, grasping my forearm with one hand and pointing up at the distant light with the other.

"If the Thirteens have got her killed then I'll-"

"She's not dead, Lucan," I tell him softly.

"How do you know that? How can you know that?" he asks, his hand so tightly clenched around his gun that I'm surprised his bones don't break.

"I don't," I admit, suddenly as certain as he is that the explosion was part of Zib's mission. "But I have to believe she's still alive because I can't imagine otherwise."

* * *

><p>It's well past dawn when she finally returns, staggering back into camp with about half the number of people she left with. She's covered from head to toe in soot and dust, and the areas of her skin that are exposed because her uniform's been burnt away are red and bleeding.<p>

"Don't worry," she gasps, trying to look at me with her usual amused expression. "I feel a lot worse than I look."

"What happened?" I ask, scanning the whole group as I attempt to take in how few of them have returned.

She opens her mouth to answer me, but her legs give out from under her before she can and she starts to fall to the floor. I jump forwards instinctively, but Lucan gets there first with Cali close behind him.

"Bring her this way," she says, jerking her head towards the pile of blankets gathered around our fire without pausing in her visual assessment of Zib's injuries.

When Lucan puts her down, her eyelids flutter and then she slowly opens her eyes. It looks like an effort, but she perseveres, smiling up at the rest of them before returning her focus to me.

"It was a Secret Service warehouse, Flax," she says quietly, making me crouch down beside her so I can hear. "They didn't tell me until it was over. They said I had to hit this mark on the wall to activate a pod that'd release these muttations that no one seemed to know anything about. When I did it, there were all these rat things."

"Rat things?"

"Muttations. But I didn't get much of a look at them because then the whole block exploded. Half the squad had got closer, trying to kill the rat things, I think, and they just vanished. The rest of us were thrown backwards, and I don't really remember what happened after that. There was so much smoke and everything was on fire. All I could think about was what it must've been like for Adie when the factory exploded. I knew I had to get out for her."

"So they put the extra pod in undetected so any papers and things they had stored there would be destroyed before we could get to them?"

She nods, but then Cali pushes me back before I can question her further.

"She needs to go to the hospital."

"No," protests Zib immediately. "I'm fine. I can fight. I just need to rest first. And clean these burns. Cali, please…you…"

Her voice trails off as exhaustion takes over, but both Cali and I know what she meant. She meant that she doesn't want to go anywhere near the military hospital run by the District Thirteen medics back at the tunnels. I can't say that I blame her. At best they'll stop her from fighting by declaring her unfit, but at worst she'll get some kind of infection and end up having her life even more in danger than it is here. She wouldn't be the first, because while they try their best just like we did back in Eight, the rebel medics don't have half of the resources their counterparts in the Peacekeeper-held Capitol take completely for granted.

I say nothing, exchanging a grim look with Cali before retreating to give her space to work.

* * *

><p>Zib sleeps for two days straight in the end, with Cali and Lucan standing guard over her constantly as they take turns to dress her wounds, but within a couple of minutes of waking, she's insisting on joining our patrol group. And so begins a week and a half of skirmishes with the Peacekeepers, day after day of hitting carefully selected targets and trying to move another block towards the centre of the city without being blown up or attacked by muttations.<p>

However just when we begin to think the monotony has got as much chance of killing us as the Capitolians, Squad 451 arrives and suddenly the camp is buzzing with excitement.

I'm in my usual place by the fire when they stroll through the lines of tents, led by Commander Boggs but with the Mockingjay and her constant companion who was so dismissive and insulting to me last time we met following closely behind. At first I think the rest of the squad are Thirteens, but then a flash of bronze catches my eye and I see Finnick Odair running to meet them after he'd stopped to talk to someone else outside one of the tents.

"What's this then?" asks Cam, leaning over my shoulder to whisper in my ear in case his voice travels and they hear him. "Are they sure it's such a good idea to have so many vitally important people in the same squad?" he adds sarcastically, glaring at Odair and the Mockingjay's friend, who he's disliked ever since he heard about the way he insulted me at the hospital on the day it was destroyed.

"I can't imagine they're here to actually _do _a lot," says Lucan, also watching the new arrivals closely. "They wouldn't want to risk damaging Odair's pretty face too much."

"Jealous, Lover?" snipes Zib playfully, looking up from the gun she'd been cleaning. "I suppose he is rather pretty."

"Pretty is as pretty does," replies Lucan grouchily.

"He does quite a lot if the rumours are true," my friend replies, trying and failing to keep the wicked grin off her face.

"Shut up, you two," I snap, noticing Boggs turning at the last minute and beginning to head in this direction.

"Commander Paylor," he says as he stops a short distance way and salutes.

I stand up and echo his salute, glaring at the others until they do the same. I can almost sense the disapproval radiating from the District Thirteen soldiers in the group behind him, and I can also imagine what we must look like through their eyes. Our uniforms are filthy and torn and our salutes sloppy. We're nothing like them, and everything about us reminds them of that whenever they see us. Only Soldier Jackson eyes me with something that could almost be respect, and I guess that's because she remembers us from the hovercraft ride out of Eight.

"Welcome to the Capitol, Commander Boggs," I reply dryly.

He shakes his head not entirely disapprovingly, wishes me luck and walks away. None of the rest of them say a word.

* * *

><p>That's the last I saw of Squad 451 for the next few days. Just like they have with us, Senior Command back in Thirteen have been sending them on missions into the Capitol, creating diversions by destroying buildings in a way that makes me wonder what the real target is and when they're going to make their move properly. They televise the propos on portable screens in the camp, and while I've seen Katniss on numerous occasions, she's always in regular uniform and never in her Mockingjay suit. But it's not until Cali comments on it that I decide it's not right.<p>

"What's going on, Flax?" she asks, sitting down beside me on the outskirts of camp where I'd come to think. "We're here but we're not moving forwards. The Mockingjay's here but she's not the Mockingjay anymore. Something's wrong and you know more than you're telling us."

"I don't know the whole story, Cali. But I do know that Thirteen aren't the benevolent saviours we wanted them to be."

"Coin," she replies, not phrasing it like a question.

I nod. "Let's just say that I doubt she wants to overthrow Snow and then walk away back to her underground fortress. She wants Panem. For herself."

"How do you know? Not that I haven't thought about it, but it just seems a bit…far-fetched. They'd been hidden away for so long. Why now?"

"Luck," I say. "Opportunity. The rebellion in the other districts gave them what they needed to come out of hiding. President Coin isn't helping us for our benefit, I'm sure of it."

"Does this have something to do with Satin de Montfort? Are you involved with something? Because if you are then…well, you have to be careful. Don't start anything you can't finish, especially when we haven't taken the Capitol yet. Not even you can fight two wars at the same time."

"Involved in something?" I reply, sounding serious even though I'm touched by her concern for me. "And why do you mention Satin?"

"Because you've been different ever since you went to her house in District One, like your mind's even more in overdrive than usual. And because you call her Satin like you know her. I know _you_, Flaxie Paylor, better than you think I do, and I know there's something going on."

"I can't talk about it. Honestly. I don't really understand it myself. But she asked me if I'd support her and her allies against Coin if the time came. I said I would, for what I'm worth. It probably isn't a lot compared to the likes of her and Heavensbee and that Redsparrow woman."

"You have more influence than you think you do," she replies, sounding almost sad as she stands up and looks down at me. "It's probably just as well you don't know how powerful you are. Because if you did then you probably wouldn't be you anymore."

I don't know how to answer that, so I just watch her walk away. It's only when she's nearly out of earshot that I realise how much I've told her.

"Cali!" She turns back to face me. "Don't-"

"-tell anyone else what I've told you," she finishes, smiling wryly before continuing to walk away.

It's almost dark before I hear another set of footsteps approaching. They're soft footsteps, so quiet that I could almost have missed hearing them at all. I think the Flax Paylor who worked in the textile factories would have remained oblivious, but as I'm not really that woman anymore, I raise my head and turn around. I'm shocked when I see the shadow of a slight figure, who quickly stops dead, presumably in response to seeing me.

"Mockingjay," I whisper, and I can tell she's deciding whether to stay or go because I'm thinking the same thing.

But then I decide I was here first so I'm not moving. I'm a commander in the rebel army, and even if that army was named for her, I have no need to run.

She doesn't move for several minutes, staring down at me. Then she sits a short distance away, gazing out over the mass of tents. She still doesn't say a word.

"I call you Mockingjay but I haven't seen the uniform for a while," I offer, trying again to get her to speak. "Have they clipped your wings?"

She shrugs her shoulders, slightly sullen in a way that reminds me of Adie when she's in a sulk.

"They still let you fight."

"Yes," she replies, even that one word laced with the unfamiliar accent of District Twelve.

"That's good isn't it? Most of us are here for some kind of revenge, but I think you've got as many reasons to seek it as any of us."

"Yes," she repeats, her expression still blank and closed.

"I come here to think. To be away from everyone else," I try, gesturing towards the rebel camp. "It helps sometimes. Is that why you're here?"

"No."

"Do you say anything besides yes and no when you're not being filmed, Mockingjay?"

"My name's Katniss."

"That's a start, I suppose," I reply, with a dry smile I'm not sure she'll be able to see in the fading light.

We sit in silence for a few more minutes, but being in her company suddenly makes me long for Cam and Zib and the others. They've suffered and endured more than anyone should ever have to, but despite that, they still don't seem anywhere near as broken as this girl who inadvertently became the face of the rebellion that changed all our lives forever. I can't help thinking that staying here too long will give me the time and the opportunity to break as well, and that's why I have to leave.

* * *

><p>We spend the next day blowing up a shopping centre, creating a diversion for another squad who were attempting to take out what we've come to call a Peacekeeper Safe House. That basically means somewhere which looks like a normal regular home that's actually a military base inside, somewhere the enemy can gather and regroup that little bit closer to the front line. Squad 800 have destroyed two of them since we arrived here, and though one of them was occupied and I'm convinced I can still see the blood on my hands if I look closely enough, I resent being the support act when we're capable of so much more.<p>

But as it was, I found myself standing in the middle of a devastated Capitolian street, watching the dust settle as fragments of thin metal shaped like ivy leaves rained down on my head like the confetti citizens here used to throw over couples on their wedding day. The Safe House was destroyed on the other side of the block. Both squads got out before the enemy patrols reached us. Nobody died and we were all relieved.

However then we returned to camp and heard a very different story. One of Squad 451 was killed by a rogue pod, and Senior Command have already sent the unfortunate woman's replacement. It's Peeta Mellark, the other half of the Star-crossed Lovers from District Twelve, the boy who'd been captured by Snow's forces and tortured out of his mind. When he was rescued by the rebels and brought to Thirteen, all he could think of was killing the girl he once told the whole country he was madly in love with. Now he's here, gun in hand and assigned to the same squad. I don't know what to think, and from the expressions on the faces of the others, they don't either.

"Is this part of the plan then?" whispers Cali in my ear as we watch Commander Boggs stalk furiously away from 451's camp.

"It's part of something," I reply. "But I'm not sure what."

There's not a lot else I can say, and we're still watching with everyone else camped close by as 451's newest member settles in when Boggs returns. He barks a couple of orders at Jackson, and then leads Katniss away through the tents. I look back at Zib and Cam, and I know what they're thinking without them having to speak.

"Boggs isn't exactly my best friend," I tell them. "What makes you think he'll give anything away if I ask him?"

"You're the great Commander Paylor who was responsible for wiping out most of the Capitol's air fleet. He'll have to talk to you."

"I'm hardly that, but if I get chance then I'll try."

* * *

><p>As it turns out, I get my chance quicker than I thought I would. Boggs and the Mockingjay returned to their tents relatively soon after they left, and a short time later, the dinner gong sounds. Instead of following the others to the canteen, I slowly approach the adjacent camp.<p>

"Commander Boggs?"

"Commander Paylor."

"Can I talk to you for a minute? Off the record."

"If you must. I know what it's about. You think you know why the Mellark boy's here."

"And if I do? I don't think it takes a genius to work out that he isn't here to bring our precious Mockingjay a bunch of flowers."

"What's the Mockingjay to you?"

"I could ask you the same," I reply, carefully observing the anger he clearly feels over the situation.

"She's a child," he replies eventually. "I have my own children, and I know that no child deserves to go through half of what that girl has endured."

"I'm not saying I disagree with you, Boggs, but there are a lot of children caught up in this war. And she's not as much of a child as you think she is really."

"You're not here to debate semantics with me, are you? If we're off the record then at least have the courtesy to say what you're really thinking."

"I'm thinking that your President Coin sent Peeta Mellark here because she's decided that the best thing the Mockingjay can do for this rebellion now is die. Is that honest enough for you?"

"Panem, Paylor, you're starting to sound like your little friend," he replies, shaking his head. "Soldier…Pershing, isn't it?" he continues, nodding when I half smile in confirmation. "I heard about what she did with that pod at that Secret Service place."

"She'll be glad to hear her reputation is spreading," I say dryly. "But don't change the subject."

"Fine. I agree with you. I think Mellark's here because the best thing Katniss Everdeen can become in my president's eyes is a martyr. But that doesn't mean I'm going to let her die."

"And none of this means I'm going to stand by and let you Thirteens take over when we're done here."

"You and who's army? Your rebels are some of the best fighters we've got, but they'd never be enough."

"Oh, you'd be surprised by how quickly alliances can be forged if they have to be."

He nods in acknowledgement. "Just watch your back. You're a soldier, like me. You're not a politician."

"A few months ago, I wasn't a soldier. I'm a quick learner."

"If you're messing with Plutarch Heavensbee and Alma Coin then you'd better hope that's true."

"It is," I say, hoping I look a lot calmer than I feel as I turn and walk away towards the canteen and the safety of the others.

* * *

><p>"Look who we have here," crows Zib, standing up and turning to face the shadowed figure approaching our campfire later that evening. "It's the great Commander Bradley herself!"<p>

"Shut it, Pershing," growls Luce good-humouredly in response, the firelight illuminating her face as she stops a short distance away.

"I thought you were out, Luce," I ask, also standing up because I know her well enough to know something's not right.

"High Command called it off. And I know why. Can I talk to you? Somewhere that isn't here."

"But-" I start, intending to tell her that there's nothing she can say that she can't say in front of the others, however she cuts me off before I can finish.

"Please, Flax."

"Fine," I reply, walking towards her and gesturing towards the path that leads to the edge of the rebel encampment closest to the mountains.

We walk in silence the whole time, her arm touching mine with every stride like we're back in District Eight and heading home after another factory shift. I occasionally turn to look at her, taking in the way her uniform that's a shade of grey halfway between mine and the usual Mockingjay soldier's does nothing to conceal how exhausted she is. She looks pale and drawn, like she could sleep for a month if it weren't for the nervous energy that's constantly keeping her on her feet. Despite our friendship, I'm strangely grateful that some of them finally have some idea of how it feels to be me.

"So, how is Squad 815 then?"

"Still alive," she replies, sounding very much like that fact is the only thing keeping her going. "All of them."

"You're doing great, Luce. You all are. And it'll be over soon."

"One way or another."

"What do you mean? Why have you brought me all the way out here?"

"Because… I didn't know if I should tell you, but you'll hear soon enough. And you should know. They shouldn't be planning stuff behind your back. It's not right."

"What do you mean?"

As far as I know, I've been to every strategy planning session and every war council meeting that's been held. I remember most of them down to the smallest and most boring detail.

"It's not the commanders here who've been plotting, Flax," she whispers. "It's those back in Thirteen. Coin and her cronies."

"Plotting what?"

"They want Peacekeeper HQ taken out. And they're sending Squad 800 to do it. Don't go, Flax. Say you won't do it. Please."

"If those are my orders then I have no choice, Luce," I reply, surprised by how even my voice is considering the way my mind is reeling at the thought of taking Cam and the others that far into the Capitol. "I'll get them there and back, I promise you."

"But it's only a few blocks away from the City Circle," she stammers. "You can't go. If you try to go then I'll tell Adaira and she'll knock you out."

"I'd like to see her try," I grin. "She'd have to get through Zib and Cam first."

"It's not funny, Flax."

"No, it's not," I say, suddenly serious. "How do you know what High Command are planning anyway?" I add, slipping into using non-Command terminology without thinking about it.

Those back in Thirteen are always 'High' rather than the official 'Senior' to the others. Although having said that, they're only that when they're being polite. I've heard them called a variety of other names as well.

"I overheard Hodge talking to Commander Propo-Opportunity," she says, grinning back at me when I smile at the name they've coined for Boggs since he took command of the so-called Star Squad. "They had their orders from above a few hours ago. It's why my mission was aborted."

"And when exactly were they thinking of telling me?"

"Tonight," she replies. "Hodge said you're one of the only squads who can do it, but Boggs just said there are better trained people and the real reason is that Coin wants you to go the same way as the Mockingjay's going to go. I didn't really get what he meant."

I do, I think, but I don't tell her that. Instead I shrug my shoulders with what I hope is convincing confusion and push her back towards camp.

"I want some time to think," I say. "Go and tell the others I'll be back soon."

She looks uncertain but she does as I asked anyway. As soon as she's gone, I wish I'd asked her to stay. What am I going to do on a mission into the heart of the Capitol? How am I going to destroy one of their most important bases and get all of them out alive with me? Besides, I'm not ready to die yet. I don't _want to _die, especially not like this, because Coin's had enough of me and thinks I might get in the way of her plan for world domination. I'm worth more than that and so are the others. She doesn't have the right to decide who lives and who dies. Except that she and Heavensbee are the leaders of the rebellion, so technically they do. And I can't deny the benefits the success of the mission would bring to the war.

I stare unseeingly into the distance and wish that just for once, something could be easy.

* * *

><p>"They're looking for you, Flax," says Dalton, racing towards me in a way that makes me want to ask where the fire is. "Because-"<p>

"Because they're having a meeting," I interrupt. "Because they're sending us to blow up Peacekeeper HQ and they haven't told me before now because they think it's a suicide mission."

"How do you know?"

"How do _you _know?" I retort.

"My squad's setting up one of the diversions. They told me first because I was there in the right place at the right time."

"Lucet overheard Hodge talking to Boggs," I say.

"So you have spies?"

"I have people who listen and always attempt to be in the…how did you put it…the right place at the right time."

"Spies," he repeats. "Plutarch Heavensbee would be proud of you."

I shrug my shoulders but don't reply. I don't much care about the thoughts of Capitolians, especially not now.

"It doesn't have to be a suicide mission, not if you're careful."

"Let's go and get it over with," I say, deliberately ignoring what he said. "At least if we go then there's half a chance of it going according to plan. Most of the District Thirteen sub-commanders look like they wouldn't know the enemy if they jumped out in front of them."

* * *

><p>"So all the other squads are going to hit their targets together and try to draw the Peacekeepers towards them?"<p>

"Yes, Zib," I reply, speaking in a hushed voice as we slowly edge down the underground tunnel that's our first voyage into territory still controlled by the enemy. "Most of the Peacekeepers leave to defend the rest of the city, we move in and blow their HQ up. It'll take out their weapons store, and according to Heavensbee will devastate their morale as well. Fancy Capitolian talk if you ask me though, but I suppose he knows the place better than I do."

"But if all of the Peacekeepers are somewhere else then they'll all still be alive and we'll be no further forward."

"It's probably as well that they will be," I reply. "I'm not so sure I'd want all that blood on my hands if they weren't."

"Peacekeeper blood's not the same," she hisses angrily.

"They're still people," says Lucan. "Most of them aren't so very different from us. They just happen to fight for the other side."

"Whatever," she replies, but she's quieter after, and I can tell she listened to his words even if she pretended she didn't.

* * *

><p>We keep walking, slowly edging forwards with me checking my Holo at every corner. Soon we're so deep inside the city that there are fewer pods, but they're still there, even underground. Between the threat of them and of being discovered by either the Peacekeepers or just some random Avox who decided to poke their head out of one of rooms into the tunnel, we're all so tense that even a slight draft makes most of us jump and reach for a weapon.<p>

It feels like all eternity passes before we finally emerge from the sewers and I see our target ahead of us, towering even over the pastel-coloured buildings that surround it. I look to the left, remembering how I memorised this section of my paper map and knowing the City Circle itself isn't far away. I almost expect to see President Snow's mansion, to see him staring down at me from his balcony with those terrifying eyes that have haunted many a person's nightmares ever since he took power. However, all I see is more buildings. Even in the Capitol, they start to look the same after a while.

"Now where?" whispers Cam, still by my side like he has been ever since we left camp.

"There," I whisper back, nervously pointing ahead because something really doesn't feel right. "But stay in the shadows. They have security cameras everywhere. We can't stay out in the open."

I check the Holo again, and there's nothing. But there should be something. I can tell there's something, even if I can't see it.

"Flax," says Cali, tightening her grip on the gun that still looks so alien in her hands.

"I know, Cali. I know."

I walk at the head of the group like always, and I've gone only three or four strides past the innocuous-looking side of a building when I hear the screams from behind me.

Eliza. I can tell it's her instantly, before I've even turned around. When I do spin on my heel, it's to find her collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony as jets of fire burst from holes in the wall that there had been no sign of only seconds earlier.

But I'm not looking at the woman from Thirteen for long, because suddenly all I can see is Zib, slumped against Lucan as he continues to pat out the fire that used to be the shoulder and sleeve of her uniform. She doesn't scream, she doesn't even cry out above a whimper, but she's hurting, her face contorted with pain. My first instinct is to drop everything and run to her, but I can't do that. If I do then we're all dead.

"We have to move! Now!"

The others don't need telling twice. We're deep in enemy territory, and Eliza just screamed loudly enough to wake the dead. They probably saw us on their cameras and activated the pod. The Peacekeepers are sure to be on us in seconds.

"This way," I say, forcing myself to make a decision and stick to it when all the roads and alleys around me suddenly look the same.

I stay still just long enough to see Lucan throw Zib over his shoulder and Johnson do the same with Eliza. She cries out, but not as loudly as before. She might be a child of the District Thirteen military machine, but she's got a mind of her own and she's not stupid. She knows the danger we're in, and as I grab Cam's hand and race away, I can't hear her at all.

"Is this block occupied?" asks Cam breathlessly as we finally begin to slow down when I decide we're too exposed out here and that inside is now better than out.

"Shouldn't think so," I gasp back in response as Will tries the side door. "We're halfway back to camp by now. All the Capitolians are further back the way we came or on the other side of the city away from the fighting."

"Can you stand?" I hear Lucan ask, and though I don't hear Zib's response, a short time later, he's pushing Will out of the way and forcing the door open with a remarkable lack of noise and damage.

We all pile inside, weapons still drawn, and I take Cali and Will in to check everywhere is clear before returning to the entrance.

"We can't stay here long," I say. "We have to get back to camp. It's only a matter of time before they realise whoever triggered that pod isn't dead."

"Aren't we going to finish what we started?" asks Zib, still trying to hide how much of a struggle it is for her to stand even with Lucan's assistance. "Peacekeeper HQ? It's ours, Flax. We just have to get there."

"And how are you going to do that with a busted shoulder?" I snap, throwing my hands up in frustration and bringing them down so hard on the wooden sideboard that the intricate vases on top of it fall off and smash on the floor. "How about Eliza?"

She doesn't reply, and nobody else speaks either. In the end it's Cali who finally breaks the silence, stepping towards the staircase and turning back to look at me.

"Why don't we see what's here while we have the chance? They might have medical supplies, and Eliza and Zib need looking at. We're not going anywhere until I've done that."

"Fine," I say with a sigh.

I gesture in the direction of the staircase and lead them up there. Once Johnson puts Eliza down on a garish pink sofa, Will rushes to her side and the rest of us all move to the other room to give Cali some space. Or that's what we tell ourselves anyway. The real reason is that while we've seen blood and pain and death on virtually a daily basis since the uprising began, it's still different when it's one of us. And despite her origins, Eliza _is _one of us.

I pace the room until I can't bear it anymore. It's a relief when Cam pulls me out into the hall and we begin searching for a way out. In the end I find a hatch that leads back into the sewers, and I soon decide it's that or nothing. They'll have used the camera surveillance footage to track us here.

We have to go or they'll kill us all.


	16. Chapter 16

_**If you've read 'Freedom' then you'll recognise some familiar faces in this one...**_

Chapter Sixteen

"What's it doing that for?" exclaims Cam at the same time as we all reach for our guns and aim them at the television.

"Relax," explains Lucan. "It's just an emergency broadcast. I know we have to go, but we should watch this, Flax. They wouldn't be doing it if they didn't have something to say."

"We don't have time," I reply, glancing at Eliza, who is still a mass of singed fabric and burnt skin on the sofa. "We have to go now."

However I'm as mesmerised and horrified as the others when the screen springs to life of its own accord to show a squad of rebel soldiers fleeing down a Capitol street that looks very similar to the one we were in a short time ago. They're running from a wave of a thick tar-like substance, which gains on them with every second. It's 451. I recognise Katniss instantly, and who else would Snow be showing but the hated Girl On Fire who set the rebellion alight?

She's named, of course, along with Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark, Commander Boggs, Cressida the Capitolian and someone called Gale Hawthorne, who I assume must be the Mockingjay's friend. We watch as they force their way into one of the apartment blocks, and then after a series of shots showing the Peacekeepers blowing the place up, they're all pronounced dead.

"Now what?" asks Cali. "What'll happen now our Mockingjay's dead?"

"We keep fighting," I answer instantly. "What happened to Katniss is a tragedy, but it changes nothing. We're here for a reason and we keep going."

At the precise moment I say that, the whole building shakes. The deafening crash from below sends my heart racing at the same time as it sinks with dread. This is it. We stayed too long. We left it too late. We'll never make it to the hatch now. The only reason they haven't blown us up is that they want us alive. And that makes it a million times worse.

"Go!" I scream, reaching for a couple of the grenades we were meant to use to destroy Peacekeeper HQ. "Johnson, take Eliza and go back through the sewers. You'll make it if I hold them off!"

"Don't be so damn stupid!" yells Cam, gathering weapons of his own.

I can tell he's getting ready to fight beside me, and when Zib does the same, wincing as she moves her injured left arm, I know it's too late to protest.

"Johnson, go. Please."

He looks at me and then looks at Eliza. She's in such a state that there's no way she could even lift her gun so firing it is totally out of the question.

"I remember her at her first day of training," he says sadly. "She asked me why every child in Thirteen had to learn to fight. She said people should have a choice."

"She deserves to live. Get her out."

He nods and picks her up off the sofa. I can hear footsteps racing up the stairs and feel strangely grateful we decided to climb so high. If we hadn't then they'd be on us already.

"You deserve to live as well."

"I'm not dead yet," I reply, pushing him in the direction of the hatch room and racing for the other door with the others behind me.

* * *

><p>Ironically considering how they came here thinking they had us cornered and trapped, we take them by surprise when we rush out, and we're outside on the street before I know it. I pull the pin from one of the grenades and fling it in the direction of the nearest knot of white uniforms, and they scream in agony when it explodes. I attempt to block the sound out but I can't, no matter how hard I try. The noise doubles with each explosion, and soon I can't see through the smoke.<p>

"Go that way!"

I spin in the direction of Lucan's call to see him pushing Zib and Cali down one of the side alleys. I retreat back to his side but there are too many Peacekeepers. They've lost sight of us for now, the smoke's seen to that, but it won't hang around for ever. And when it clears, they'll know where we are and they'll catch us in seconds.

"Right behind you," I say, pushing him after the others.

But as soon as he's gone a few strides away and vanished from my sight, I sprint back the other way, moving to the side and firing my gun as I go, hoping to draw the enemy away. The last thing I hear before everything turns black is the sound of Cam screaming my name.

* * *

><p>There's noise all around when I finally find the strength to try and open my eyes. I'm lying on the floor, and for a moment I think I'm back in Eight. Then I manage to open the one eye that isn't forced closed by the flow of blood coming from above it and see that the floor is a strange powder-blue colour. I guess I'm still in the Capitol then.<p>

And then I remember. The Peacekeepers, the grenades, the pods. This is it. I'm going to die. There's nowhere for me to go, and even if there was, I doubt I'd have the strength to get there.

I stumble to my feet, determined to die with my gun in my hand and to take a few of them with me when I go. The sound of many army boots hitting the ground gets louder as they get closer and closer. Any second and they'll round the corner and see me. Any second now.

Then a hand closes around my arm and I'm pulled off my feet again.

* * *

><p>The person who grabbed my arm half drags me inside the building and closes the door softly. I can hear the noise of the Peacekeepers shouting to each other, and the sound of many sets of boots hitting the floor echoes all around me again, even closer this time. I'm dragged backwards, still disorientated from the explosion, and before I get chance to look at my apparent saviour's face, I'm pushed through another doorway.<p>

There's a stairway on the other side, and what little of it I can see through the blood that runs down my face and into my eyes is spinning at a terrifying rate. Everything blacks out, and before I can save myself, I stumble and crash painfully to the bottom. I lie still for a minute before my sense of self-preservation kicks in to overcome the pain in my head and side. I try to move. I don't get very far. Everything hurts too much. I don't think there's a part of my body that isn't racked with pain.

I hear the door open somewhere above me and the sound of faint voices drifts down. This is it. Whoever dragged me in here didn't do it to rescue me. They did it so they could sell me out to the Peacekeepers. I reach for the tiny compartment on the top of my jacket sleeve with a shaking hand. I won't let them torture me into giving up my secrets, because Panem knows I have enough of them. I could bring down the entire rebel army if I chose to or they forced me to, starting with Cam and Zib and everyone else I love. I'd rather die than do that.

"Don't be so stupid," says a voice in the darkness. "Having a dead rebel commander in her cellar might help Dru get Snow's people to believe she's on their side, but I don't think she rescued you just to have you kill yourself."

"What?" I gasp incredulously, struggling to raise my head so I can search the black that surrounds me for the source of the voice. Female and Capitol, that's about all I can work out. I can't see anything. My eye that isn't stuck closed with blood hasn't adjusted yet.

"Drusilla. The woman who I'm guessing just saved your life. Do me a favour and don't kill yourself before you get the chance to say thank you."

"I… Where are you? How do you know that was what I was going to do?"

"Nightlock," replies the voice, and I hear soft footsteps getting slowly closer. "I know more about the Mockingjays than you might expect from my accent."

"I know about the Capitol rebels," I say, squinting to try to see her properly before thinking better of it because it hurts too much.

"Well aren't you a clever girl?" she retorts, and suddenly she reminds me of someone I can't quite place. "What's your name?"

"Flax," I reply, and as soon as I speak, something clicks and a small torchlight flares up a short distance from where I stand.

I raise my hand to my eyes, blinded by the sudden brightness, but as I gradually become accustomed to it and peer around, I see my companion for the first time. She's about a head and shoulders shorter than me and a little younger, dressed in a plain dress I can't tell the colour of in this light. She looks tired and a bit roughed up, but she's pretty, maybe even beautiful. In a Capitolian sort of way.

"Panem, you're a mess," she exclaims, but then she narrows her eyes, tilting her head to one side as she looks closer. "This is getting more interesting by the second," she says. "You're very high profile to find yourself in a place like this, aren't you, Commander Paylor?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional," I snap, glaring at her even though I'm not sure if the torch provides enough light for her to make out my features. I suppose it must do, because she seems to recognise me. "We were blowing up the headquarters. It didn't exactly go according to plan."

"If the explosions I heard are anything to go by then it didn't exactly go wrong either," she replies mildly, propping the torch on a table and sitting on one of the chairs.

"They're probably all dead," I say eventually, almost to myself as much as to her, putting my hand to my stomach not only because of my injuries from the explosion but because of the sick feeling I get at not knowing what happened to the others.

"But they might not be," the woman replies, sounding strangely convincing, like she knows because she's been in the same position even though I don't see how that could be possible. "You don't know for sure that a person's dead until you see their body."

"Who are you? Why are you here? Are you hiding from the government and the Peacekeepers too?"

"There's a price on my head just like there's a price on yours. I…used my position to…help the rebellion," she says, clearly struggling to find the words that won't give away too much. "And now I'm a wanted woman. Prisca Oakhurst wants to rip me limb from limb while Snow watches, I imagine. My name's Vesper Rosenby."

"Vesper? Did what you did involve a hovercraft and a map of the Capitol?" I ask, speaking even as everything abruptly falls into place. After all, how many people can there be called Vesper, even in the Capitol?

She stands up so quickly that she knocks the table and the torch rolls to the floor. I reach down to pick it up and hold it out in front of me, trying not to shine it into her eyes. I don't know what expression I expected to see on her face, but it certainly wasn't what I'm actually seeing. What I'm seeing can only be described as hope.

"How could you know that? Have you seen them? Did they make it? Did you see Narissa?"

She reaches out and grasps one of my hands in both of hers, squeezing tightly. Her hands are soft, unblemished and not blistered from hours of weapons training. She has sharp little nails that dig into my skin, and I focus on the slight pain in the hope it will both distract me from the much greater pain coming from the rest of me and also help me work out what to say to her.

But then the door at the top of the stairs swings open and she's gone before I have time to blink. Even as I follow her into the shadows, I know I'd have been too slow if the person walking towards me hadn't been the one Vesper called Drusilla.

"You're safe here," she says, handing me a piece of white cloth and nodding in the direction of the wound on my head. "For now. Until I can figure out a way to get you back where you belong."

"Thank you," I reply, my words sounding strangely inadequate. "You saved my life."

"Yes," she says. "You're not the first and hopefully you won't be the last. Come this way. If you can," she adds, scanning me as if taking in my wounds but in a critical way that makes me unusually concerned about what I look like.

"I'm fine. I can manage."

She gestures towards the darkness not illuminated by the faint torchlight and I follow her. Surreal though this situation is, dazed though I still am from the explosion and everything that's happened since, I'm aware enough to know that I don't have much choice but to trust her.

"Normally the wall lights in here will be on," she says. "But if they go out or if you hear anything then you come here and hide. Move this sheet," she continues, raising a grubby looking piece of fabric that looks much like all the rest that litter what appears to be a pile of old and broken furniture. "And push this panel."

She does as she said, and immediately the panel against the wall springs outwards, revealing a tunnel just about big enough for me to squeeze through. It does all this without even the hint of a sound, and I can't help thinking Capitol technology and engineering is actually good for some things.

"Go through there and you'll get to a smaller room. Wait there, but if you think we might have been discovered then there's another trapdoor in the floor. It leads into the sewers under the city. You go through it and you run. It's not much of a chance but it'll be your only one."

"Let's hope we're not discovered then," says Vesper as she pushes herself through the short tunnel so she's sitting at my feet. "I don't think I really want to smell of the sewers for the rest of my life."

"The rest of your life might not be very long if we come to that," snaps the older woman, sounding remarkably like a parent berating a child even though I doubt there could be any less of a resemblance between the two of them and they're almost certainly not related. "You're as bad as-"

"Tell me," Vesper says, almost jumping to her feet as she cuts Drusilla off mid-sentence and clutches at my hand again, heedless of the layer of blood that coats my skin. "Did they get to Thirteen? Is that how you knew about the hovercraft? Did you see 'Rissa?"

I sigh and turn to Drusilla, who nods pointedly back. She looks almost as interested in my story as Vesper does, so I begin to tell them of Falco Hazelwell and Narissa Redsparrow's arrival in District Thirteen and everything that happened with the map.

"I knew they'd make it out," says Vesper. "I knew it."

"Where are they now?" asks Drusilla.

"Back in Thirteen, last I heard. Narissa was making a habit of crashing into Command and sitting in Coin's chair just to piss her off. But she was threatening Heavensbee so he'd get you out as well," I reply, nodding to Vesper. "Then she said she'd fly her hovercraft here herself if she got the chance."

"She'd do it as well," replies Vesper fondly. "But I hope she doesn't. I don't want her risking her life for me."

"It sounds like you're about even if you got her out of the city knowing you'd have to stay here when your cover was blown. I don't think either of you owe the other."

"I love her. And when you love someone, it isn't about debt and repayment."

"No," I answer eventually, trying and failing not to think about Cam and how, even if he's alive, he probably thinks I'm dead. "No, it isn't. How long am I going to have to wait here? I have to get back to my friends."

"Friends?" asks Drusilla doubtfully.

"The people I came here with were my friends before they were soldiers who fight for me. I never asked to be their commander."

"It isn't safe for you to leave. You should have worked that one out yourself. I'm going to have to go out and have a look around, see what's happening now."

"Why are you doing this?" I say. "Why are you helping me? Why are you helping her?" I continue, nodding back at Vesper, who is watching us both closely.

"Because if I don't then you'll die. And I've seen enough needless deaths over the years."

"Drusilla used to prep tributes for the Games," says Vesper. "She worked with Felix."

"The stylist? He was with Falco and Narissa when they came to Thirteen."

Drusilla smiles at the mention of Felix, but Vesper shakes her head sadly.

"How were they? Falco and Felix, I mean. They were both changed after Butterfly, I mean Cashmere died. One of them had her heart in the way he wanted and the other didn't, but they both loved her all the same."

"They'll be changed forever," interrupts Drusilla, a wave of grief passing over her face. "And they're not the only ones."

"You styled for Cashmere?" I ask, phrasing it like a question even though I already know the answer. "And you exchanged messages with her sister for the rebellion?"

"Yes," she replies, confirming that at least part of what Satin told me back in One was the truth at the same time as adding to the web of confusion that seems to make up the plot behind this rebellion. When I was aiming guns at planes in District Eight, I had no idea everything would be this complex. "I used to spy for Achillea, then Falco introduced me to Heavensbee."

"But-"

"That's enough," she says, sounding strangely like Cali does when she's annoyed with me. "I can't stay here now in case visitors come calling."

"I- They said the Mockingjay's dead. I have to get back to camp."

"I don't have much left but I'll bring you some food later," she replies, carrying on like she didn't hear me. "There's a box with some bandages and antiseptic in it in the other room. Try to clean yourself up. Vesper can help you. She's not as useless as she looks."

"Now that's just uncalled for," says the other Capitolian woman as she jumps lightly to her feet, but even though I hardly know her at all, I can tell there's no real anger in her voice.

* * *

><p>"I'm fine. I can manage," I insist, turning away from Vesper as I try to peel my shirt off my skin where the blood on it has dried, fusing it to my wound so it hurts every time I touch it.<p>

"Do you want every man you see?" she asks, and the shock I feel at her question makes me stop what I'm doing and turn sharply to look at her. She raises her eyebrows challengingly and I look away quickly. "No, you don't, do you," she continues, telling me rather than asking a question. "So what gives you the right to think I'm different because I love 'Rissa? You're not unattractive, Paylor, but you're not my type."

"I- I didn't mean it like that," I stammer eventually. "Really I didn't."

The challenge in her eyes doesn't fade. She doesn't believe me, and though right up until a few seconds ago I hadn't been willing to explain, suddenly it's important that she understands.

"I didn't want to be in command," I say, and though there's still anger in her expression, she nods at me to continue. "But as time passed I kind of got used to it. I got used to being strong for everyone else."

"So you don't want people to work out you're as human as they are?" she asks, sitting on the arm of the chair in front of me. "You don't want anyone to see you can get wounded as easily as they can?"

"Something like that," I reply, not protesting when she takes the damp cloth from my hand and presses it against my side.

"I'm not one of your soldiers," she says softly. "And they're not here so they can't see you."

She doesn't speak again as she gradually detaches the fabric of my shirt from the cuts on my side, not even when biting my lip isn't enough to contain my hisses of pain. Only when she moves on to the cut above my eye does she finally break our virtual silence.

"I've sealed this as best I can, but it'll probably scar."

"Another one to add to the collection," I reply, shifting around slightly so she can see the beginnings of the lash scars on my back.

"Why? Those aren't battle scars."

"Some Peacekeeper decided he wanted a piece of my best friend. I threatened to hit him and got caught. They had me whipped in the main square of District Eight because they thought it would trigger our uprising when they were ready for it."

"And did it?"

"I made them wait, the rebels, I mean. Until after the Quell. But then we got our own back. Erebus Stone died at his own gallows while most of the district watched."

"I know," she replies, passing me a new shirt and moving a short distance away. "It's one of the many reasons why Snow put a price on your head."

* * *

><p>When I open my eyes again I'm still in the same chair. Someone's draped a blanket over me, and it falls back when I try to move. My muscles are stiff and every bone in my body aches, but I force myself to block out the pain. I'm underground so I've no way of telling what time it is, but if I feel like this then I must have been still for hours. I have to get out of here. I have to get back to camp.<p>

"Don't even think about it," commands Drusilla, making me jump as she steps out of the shadows.

"Think about what?"

"Trying to leave," she replies, proving how scarily accurate she is at reading my thoughts. "I'll go and see what food I've got left. _Stay there_."

I shuffle in the chair, somewhat chastened, temporarily anyway. Looking around the dark, cramped room, I soon find I'm not alone.

"So how come you're fighting against the Capitol when you're Capitolian?" I ask Vesper, staring across at her as she sits curled up on one of the other battered armchairs.

"I'm not fighting against the Capitol. I'm fighting against Snow."

"Are they two different things?"

"Obviously," she replies, almost sneering at me as she reaches behind her head and unfastens her hairclip to release a mass of blonde waves that cascade down her back all the way to her hips. "And when we win, everything's going to change."

"Finally something we agree on," I say testily, subconsciously responding to her tone

"So it would seem," she replies. "But I wonder which side you'll be on when it kicks off for real."

"I'm on my own side. District Eight's."

"There is no District Eight," she says flatly.

"Not now, but there could be again," I answer, talking to myself more than to her and only really realising I spoke aloud when she narrows her eyes at me.

"You want to be Commander Paylor of District Eight again, then? I thought so. Wants power but not too much. Kind of got used to it so can't quite imagine being without it."

"It's not like that," I retort, feeling my anger rising because this woman seems to be a bit too good at peeling down all the walls I hide behind so she can see the truth. "The people of Eight deserve to start again, and if they look to me then it's my duty to help them."

"An idealist as well? Are you even real?"

"Of course I'm real," I snap, pulling a scrap of bandage off my shoulder. "I bleed like everyone else, don't I?"

"We could use your support, you know," she says, suddenly thoughtful once more. "If you throw your lot in with us and we win then there'll be no more Coin, no more District Thirteen rules."

"Obviously. There'd be Capitolian rules instead. And who's '_We_' anyway?"

"If you think about it then you'll already know," she replies.

"Heavensbee? Satin de Montfort? Your girlfriend?"

"And the rest," she says. "You don't know even a quarter of it, but you could do."

"I don't take sides. Not yet anyway. Especially when chances are that I'll be dead before sunrise."

"You don't trust me?"

"I barely know you. Why in Panem would I trust you? Why would I trust any of you?"

"'Rissa's a good person. I know how she comes across to most people, but when it comes down to it, she just wants a fair Panem for everyone."

"You expect me to believe that? There were stories going around Thirteen that she used to buy the Victors off Snow and all sorts."

"She did. But just 'cause she bought them, it doesn't mean she slept with them all."

"Then why?"

"You're nosy, aren't you?" she replies, scowling slightly. "Ever thought it isn't any of your business?"

"Suit yourself," I say, turning away to stare at the blank wall and returning to attempting to think up an escape plan that won't get me killed.

"Some of them interested her," Vesper answers eventually, waiting for so long to speak that I thought our conversation had ended. "She sat up for hours talking to Beetee from District Three. I fell asleep listening to them talk about all kinds of things I didn't understand. Then there were some of them she just felt sorry for. Like Aida from your district. She'd wait until they looked like they couldn't take another night of being bought and sold and she'd buy them herself. To give them the night off, she called it."

"But everyone says she slept with Gloss de Montfort."

"She did. So did I," she adds flatly, before smirking wickedly in response to the shock that must show on my face. "Oh, spare me the disapproval," she says. "Gloss made his choices, not me or 'Rissa."

"But…"

"Poor innocent little Flaxie Paylor," she replies mockingly, laughing lightly. "If that shocks you then I'm guessing you won't want me to tell you any more tales of Capitolian life before the rebellion."

"Please don't," I say, scowling across at her. "And don't call me Flaxie. Only my friends call me that."

"And we're not friends? Doesn't being stuck in this cellar together for hours on end count for anything?"

Her mocking tone doesn't change any more than my scowl fades. I suddenly long for the quiet and calm version of Vesper who dressed my wounds earlier.

"No. You're still one of them. And I'm not having this debate. It's pointless and childish."

"So why don't we debate about exactly how stupid it is for you to try and walk out of here?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on, _Flaxie_. Do you think I'm stupid? You've barely taken your eyes off that door since you woke up."

"So what if I _am _going? What's it to you?"

"What _is_ going on in here?" exclaims Drusilla, striding quickly into the room and putting a tray of food down on the seat of the nearest unoccupied chair.

"Destructo-Girl over here thinks she's going to stroll out into the street and take down the government with a half-empty machine rifle and a hand grenade," replies Vesper instantly, every word dripping with a mixture of amusement, contempt and disbelief.

"Don't forget the laser beams from my eyes," I add flippantly, laughing at the memory of what I once said to Zib. "It's an inside joke, don't worry about it," I say then, smiling at the Capitolian woman's confusion.

"Everyone I've heard speak of you says you're intelligent, Commander Paylor," says Drusilla. "Even Prisca Oakhurst gives you that. So why are you being so ridiculously stupid?"

"I never said I was going to fight," I reply, more calmly this time. "But I am leaving. Out through the tunnel and into the sewers. While I have the chance. The Mockingjay's dead and the enemy's just broadcast the glorious news on the television. The camp will be in chaos and if I'm not there then there's nobody to stand for my district in the command meetings. I have to try."

Both women stare at me, saying nothing for what feels like all eternity before Drusilla finally moves the tray to the floor and sits down.

"You can't go now," she says. "Not until the morning at least."

"Why? What time is it now?"

"It's half four-"

"It might not be the same in the Capitol, but that's the morning to me."

"Just because we can't get messages out of the city, it doesn't mean we can't pass them around inside of it," she says, deadly serious. "I don't know what's going on so don't ask me, but I do know that you can't be underground right now."

"Fine, I'll wait until later. But I'm still going."

"And I'm going with you," says Vesper flatly."

"You're what? You can't."

"Why?"

"Well… No offence, but you'd be about as much use in a war zone as a newborn baby. I'm not sure I can get myself out, so I'm certain I can't protect you as well."

"I'm not asking you to protect me. I don't need protection."

"You do."

She stares back at me as if she can't quite believe I'm talking to her like I am. If the expression on her face is anything to go by then I'm pretty sure she's never been spoken to with anything less than the polite deference wealthy and powerful Capitolians appear to take for granted.

"I'm leaving with you," she says eventually. "Every day I spend here puts Dru at risk and she's already done too much for me. I've been waiting for the opportunity to leave to arrive and it looks like you're it."

* * *

><p>"Can't you walk any quicker?" I hiss, turning back to Vesper for what feels like the millionth time.<p>

The smell of the place reminds me of the burning hospital in Eight. There's something about that smell that a person never forgets, and it means only one thing to me. Death. It's not right down here. Nothing's right. I haven't seen any sign of an enemy patrol in the hour and a half that's passed since we left Drusilla's, but I can feel the wrongness in my bones.

"Through two feet of raw sewage, no, I can't," she growls back, speaking through gritted teeth completely obscured from view by the scarf she's tied around her mouth.

"If you want to get eaten by muttations or blown up then walk on the path and trigger the pods," I reply impassively, trying to hide my increasing irritation and most likely failing dismally. "It's nothing to me as long as you walk far enough behind."

"You can't seriously tell me this isn't bothering you," she answers, sounding slightly chastened, for her anyway.

"Of course it's bothering me, but it's not like we have a choice. We've got this far without so much as getting shot at, so I think we're doing rather well and considerably better than expected," I reply, deliberately putting on her Capitolian accent for the last sentence.

"You just love winding me up, don't you?"

"What other entertainment do I have?"

"You're impossible."

"And you're not?"

She says nothing but I sense her scowl anyway.

"You're doing great, Vesper," I say, speaking with a sweetness that's only half pretend, because if I'm honest then she is.

She's about Zib's size but with less than half her strength, and I very much doubt she's done even an hour of hard labour in her whole life, but she's still carrying on. I half expected she'd be thinking I'd be carrying her by now, but aside from obvious remarks about the path we're walking along, she hasn't complained once.

* * *

><p>I almost can't believe the daylight I see is real when I crawl out of the hatch onto the street. The place is deserted and I breathe a sigh of relief. I got it right. We're somewhere between the edge of Peacekeeper-held territory and the rebel's front line. No man's land. A dangerous place to be, especially half dressed as a rebel and half as a Capitolian. But right now, anything's better than the sewer that reeks of death.<p>

"At least you can read a map," says a clearly exhausted but still fierce Vesper as she staggers out of the hatch after me and raises her head to look tiredly around. "You're good for something."

"I could have left you there, you know," I reply, too tired myself to put any venom into it. She might be Capitolian but she's not my enemy and we both know I'd have carried her out if she hadn't been determined enough to force herself to keep walking.

She stumbles again but I grab her arm and pull her back into the shadows. I don't doubt that she'd eat me alive if I opposed her in politics, but she's as vulnerable as a child out here. She knows nothing about real physical warfare, and I'd trust Adie with my back sooner than I'd trust her.

"How far away are we?"

"Not very," I reply, refusing to admit even to myself that I don't really know where the rebels are anymore. A lot can happen in a night and a day in a war like this.

"That was Falco's car," she whispers, nodding at the burnt out remnants of a massive black car that reminds me of Satin de Montfort's. "We tricked the Peacekeepers into thinking we were in it and they blew it up. It activated a pod that took out most of the block."

I say nothing, staring at the car as her words plant an idea in my mind that suddenly won't let go.

"Flax?" she says, waving her hand in front of my face. "Are you even listening to me? Flax?"

"Hush," I hiss, still staring at the car and the utter devastation that surrounds it. "The car activated the pod, you say?"

"You can't have it both ways, _Commander Paylor_. Either you want me to speak or you don't," she says testily, but she carries on in response to my glare. "Yes. They set the car alight and it activated the pod next to it."

"So that's what we do," I tell her. "We get cars, set them on fire, and send them down the streets ahead of the soldiers."

"Impressive," she replies. "Your mind works like 'Rissa's. I've no idea why you didn't get on."

"Her attitude, perhaps?" I retort, grasping her arm again and pulling her down the street. "We have to get back."

* * *

><p>The rebel soldiers keeping watch from behind the walls surrounding the buildings that mark the current end of rebel-held territory almost shoot us.<p>

I'm not surprised. In fact I'm more surprised when they call out to us in the familiar accent of District Thirteen because I know they've all been ordered to shoot anyone they can't immediately identify on sight.

"Rebel soldiers coming in!" I call. "Hold your fire! Rebel soldiers!"

They don't lower their weapons and the closest grey-uniformed man shoots a warning shot into the air.

"This is Commander Flax Paylor of Squad 800 and the eighth division! Hold your fire!"

That makes them stop to think. I can see the doubt that I'm one of the enemy beginning to form in their minds from the way the barrels of their guns waver. I keep walking, dragging Vesper along with me and eventually crushing her into my wounded side just in case she panics and does something stupid. I should have known better. She pulls away and strides forwards more positively than she has since we left Drusilla.

"We thought you were as dead as the Star Squad," says the soldier who nearly shot me as I edge closer, sighing with relief when I see recognition in his eyes. For the first time, I'm grateful for my fame.

"I almost was," I reply honestly.

"Who's your friend?" asks a second soldier, a commander with a uniform even darker grey than mine whose name temporarily escapes me.

"Vesper Rosenby," answers Vesper before I have time to speak, talking to him in that uppity Capitol voice she has like she hasn't spent Panem knows how long in hiding in a cellar and the past few hours dragging herself through what I can only describe as an open sewer. "If you still don't know then ask Plutarch Heavensbee."

"She's one of us," I add. "Or at least she's on our side."

"You should get a medic to check you over," says the commander, raising a sceptical eyebrow at Vesper with surprising humour for a Thirteen.

"Where are 800?" I ask, ignoring his suggestion in favour of something that means way more to me than anything else. "Did they all get out?"

"Yes, Commander Paylor," answers one of the other soldiers. "Virtually all of the District Eight rebels are about two blocks away, shooting at anything that moves while alternating between trying to persuade Soldier Pershing not to start torturing our prisoners and telling Soldier Marshall that charging back towards the City Circle to find you will only get him killed."

"They think I'm dead?"

"The whole army thinks you're dead, Commander. Between you and the Mockingjay, it isn't a good day for the rebels."

"Well I bet they haven't seen Everdeen's body either," I reply, racing down the road as fast as I can in the direction he pointed.

Vesper almost keeps up with me, and that tells me how injured and exhausted I am as much as the pain I feel ever could.

* * *

><p>Nothing could have prepared me for what I see when I turn the next corner. There are rebel soldiers ahead of me and to the side of me, sheltering behind crumpled walls and bits of debris as they stare ahead, waiting where they've been ordered to wait to see if the Peacekeepers attack even though there's virtually no chance of that here. I gesture to Vesper to stay back, and then I creep forwards, approaching the familiar broad back of the nearest soldier.<p>

"Baize Sheridan, are you going to wait here forever for Snow to come to you or are you going to come with me to meet him in the City Circle?"

The way he freezes before turning ever so slowly to face me would be comical if the situation had been different. He stares at me in stunned disbelief and I stare right back at him. He isn't in his grey uniform anymore. He's changed into something that greatly resembles the clothes he fought in back in Eight. There's a piece of black fabric tied tightly around the top of his right arm and the look in his eyes tells me it's there because of me.

"You're dead," he stammers eventually, still gazing at me like he doesn't think I'm real.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but if that's true then I do an excellent impression of being alive."

He covers the short distance between us in a couple of seconds, and before I know it he's swept me off my feet and lifted me onto his shoulder.

"I told you all it would take more than a few Peacekeepers to end Flax Paylor!" he shouts, and a mass of people surround us virtually instantly.

"Flax!" screams a voice I know better than my own, and as soon as Baize lowers me down, Zib barrels into me and knocks me straight to the ground.

"Not dead yet, Zib," I reply, just managing to get the words out before the pain that comes from her lying on top of my fresh wounds drives all the air from my lungs.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive," she says, repeating that one phrase over and over again like she almost doesn't realise she's talking at all.

"Where's Cam, Zib? Please tell me he hasn't done anything stupid."

"More stupid than usual, you mean," she replies, sitting back and allowing Baize to pull me to my feet again.

"I heard that."

I'm so shaky I can hardly stand, and when my eyes find Cam's, I lose my balance entirely. He steps forward, catching me and crushing me against him like he's never going to let go. He kisses the top of my head, the side of my face, my shoulder, any part of me he can reach, heedless of how half the division is watching.

"I knew you weren't dead," he says, starting to move back and then thinking better of it, lifting me up and pulling me with him.

"Liar," I reply, reaching up and tugging at his black armband.

"What happened?" he asks, still not letting me go.

"I'll tell you later. I have to speak to Command. We have to keep going."

He looks like he wants to protest, but in the end he just nods and leads me forwards. He knows me too well to argue.

It takes less than a second for us to be surrounded by people, and it makes me wonder if this is what it feels like to be Katniss. It's true what I said. We haven't seen her body, the Capitolians haven't shown us proof that she's dead. And until they do, I won't believe it. I might not know her well, but she's the symbol of this revolution so I can't believe it. Neither can anyone else.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

As I walk through the rebel-held streets of the Capitol, everyone stops what they're doing to watch me. Some groups of soldiers clap and cheer, others simply stand and stare. They make me look over my shoulder constantly, because even after all that's happened, I still can't quite believe _I'm _the focus of their attention.

"Their Mockingjay's dead, Flax. Seeing you gives them hope," says Cali as she walks slightly behind me. She'd be walking by my side, but Cam and Zib haven't left me from the second I returned. I've never loved them more or been happier to see anyone, but I'm starting to understand how it feels to have bodyguards.

"Because if I survived when they thought I was dead then they think she might still be alive as well?"

"Do you find it so hard to believe that they might want you to survive because of who _you _are?" she replies, pushing me gently and then looking apologetic when I wince. "Should you be walking around? I know you got hurt."

"I'm fine, Cali," I say, not feeling at all fine but knowing I have to carry on anyway. "I'm calling a meeting of all the commanders."

"You hate meetings, Flax," says Cam, and the genuinely puzzled expression on his face makes me smile as I reply.

"I have an idea. And if we don't do something now then we've had it. Whatever Coin thinks, it was Katniss Everdeen who kept most of our soldiers fighting, not her. Now she's dead and everyone's getting blown up by Capitolian pods left, right and centre, it's only a matter of time before morale hits an all time low. And that's exactly what Snow wants."

"What's your idea?" asks Zib, but before I can answer, she turns away from me and calls to Lucan as he jogs to catch up with us. "You were right all along."

"Of course I was," he replies, looking across at me appraisingly. "It'd take more than a few squads of Peacekeepers to end her. If you take that uniform off then she's probably made of steel underneath."

"I am here, you know," I retort, trying to be stern and not to smile. "And I'm still your commander, Soldier Domani."

"Don't worry, Commander Paylor, I'll leave it to Marshall to find out the truth of what I said."

He ducks out of the way as Cam growls and both Zib and I swing for him at the same time, and when we stop running as we reach the end of the street, we're all laughing and breathless. I press my hand to my injured side, instantly regretting attempting to run at all. It takes me a couple of seconds to notice the others are now totally silent.

"We're all delighted to see you return to us, Commander Paylor," intones the chronically serious voice of Commander Hodge, and as I slowly look up at him, I suddenly feel like a child being told off by a very strict father. If anything, he sounds almost suspicious. "And we'd all be equally as delighted to hear the circumstances of your return. We arrested the Capitolian woman who accompanied you-"

"You arrested Vesper?" I reply incredulously before he can finish his sentence. "Why? She's Heavensbee's spy. She helped get the Holo map out of the city. We wouldn't have got this far without her."

"So she says. She's protesting quite…forcefully."

"I bet she is."

"I wouldn't like to be in your shoes when Narissa Redsparrow finds out you've arrested her girlfriend," adds Lucan, shrugging his shoulders at me when I raise my eyebrows to ask how he knows so much about them. He was stationed in the Capitol for years though, and from other things I've heard, nothing stays private for long here. "You'd better find a really well-concealed stone to hide underneath. _Sir_," he adds as a highly disrespectful sounding afterthought.

Hodge doesn't reply, he merely narrows his eyes disapprovingly before turning away like Lucan's beneath his notice. I can see the man from District Two itching to make him revise his opinion with his fists, but Zib closes her hand around his and the tension in his body eventually fades.

"I've called a meeting," Hodge says, his focus entirely on me.

"Good," I reply, speaking before he can continue. "I was going to call one anyway. I have something to say."

"You'll speak if I give you permission to speak and not before. Or I'll have you demoted."

"My people promoted me, Hodge, not District Thirteen and certainly not you. I've earned the right to speak and you can't stop me."

I turn on my heel and stride away with the others close behind me. By the time we reach the tent in the middle of the square where all the meetings are held, there's quite a crowd following us. I'm not sure if they're waiting to see what happens next or if they're simply stunned to see me walking around.

"Adaira!" I call, catching sight of my fierce sub-commander as she peers around a corner to see what all the fuss is about.

She does a double-take when she sees me, and as she quickly emerges into the square, the first thing I notice is that she's also exchanged her grey uniform for plain clothes even though she wasn't still with the main group when I got back. The black band around her arm stands out against her green jacket, and the sight of it reminds me of what Johnson told me about her words to her squad when they were training.

She doesn't verbally express happiness at my return. She doesn't actually say anything at all, and her expression is no different to usual. But as she stops in front of me, she reaches up and squeezes my shoulder hard, almost as if she's convincing herself I'm real.

"Cars," I tell her. "You need to get as many cars as you can and push them towards the front line."

"Cars?" she echoes, frowning slightly.

"Cars. I'll explain later. Will you help me?"

"Always," she replies, saluting sharply and then turning back, already barking orders to the mostly District Thirteen squad hovering behind her.

* * *

><p>Hodge calls me out about the cars as soon as he gets silence at a meeting attended by more people than have ever been present at them before. He looks at me like I'm crazy, like I haven't got a clue what I'm doing, but he isn't the only one and I force myself to look right back at him. I've seen too much and we're too close to the end of this war for me to stop now.<p>

"So are you going to put everyone in the cars and drive into the City Circle?" he asks mockingly. "Do you think President Snow will be so impressed that he'll surrender instantly?"

I force myself to ignore both him and the sniggers of laughter from the commanders behind him. I turn to face the rest of them instead. Dalton and the others, those willing to give me a chance, those who want this war done as much as I do, they all look back at me patiently.

"Set the cars on fire and send them down the streets ahead of us," I say. "They'll activate the pods."

The low murmuring that now fills the tent tells me that they're thinking about it, and I can see some of them nodding towards the entrance as if they want to start straight away. I wish we could. I'm fed up of talking and I'm fed up of playing these games.

"We need to divide our forces," says Dalton, dragging my attention back to the present. "There's only a small area still out of our control and they can't have much fight left in them even if they have killed the Mockingjay. It's too little too late for them and most of them know it."

"So we go in hard and attack them from all sides?"

"Yes," he replies. "The thing with the cars is a good idea but it'll only work for so long before they realise what we're doing and start controlling the pods manually."

"We should get going then," I say, standing up and gathering as many of those I trust around me as I can.

However before I can move, there's a flurry of activity at the tent entrance and a very dishevelled Vesper is pushed inside, surrounded by at least three or four District Thirteen soldiers. She doesn't speak, but the glare she sends in Hodge's direction says a thousand words. Like me, she looks very much like she wants to ask who suddenly put him in charge. But I suppose it makes sense for Coin to install one of her chief lackeys right in the thick of the action.

"Vesper Rosenby," Hodge intones, seemingly unfazed by both her and the situation. "You will be escorted to District Thirteen under armed guard and held there until the claims you've made can be substantiated. If there is no evidence to be found then you will stand trial in accordance with the laws of my district."

"You have no authority," replies Vesper, her voice a low hiss of total indignation and fury. "And I won't be leaving here, under armed guard or otherwise. I'm not a District Thirteen citizen. There's nothing in Panem that could convince me to go anywhere near your hovel of a district and I certainly won't be subject to Alma Coin's notion of justice."

"You seem to be under the misguided illusion that this is in any way optional," answers Hodge, and I notice a dangerous note in his voice that hadn't been there before.

"Isn't it funny how one simple sentence can say so much?" calls another voice from the tent entrance. "Here was me thinking we were all fighting for freedom together, when really you've just revealed your district's true intentions for all to hear."

I turn in time to see Narissa walking towards us, a bullet-proof vest her only concession to military uniform other than the boots which have replaced her usual high heels.

"You've ruined your favourite dress, love," she says casually, her comment a complete contradiction to the soft look she gives Vesper. "When the war's over I'll sue someone for compensation."

"You took your time," the other woman replies. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to leave me here."

"Never," is the flat response she instantly gets in return.

"What are you doing here?" snaps Hodge, scowling viciously at both Capitolians. "This is a war zone. You have no business here."

"This is my city," purrs Narissa. "Plutarch Heavensbee is my ally and unless I'm very much mistaken, he has joint command of this army. And you might want rid of me but I'm not leaving without Vesper," she adds, sending the nearest guard reeling back with just one look and promptly taking her place. "Let her go. Now."

She holds out a tightly folded piece of paper with a flourish and though he scowls again, Hodge thinks better of not taking it when he recognises the former Head Gamemaker's elaborate writing on the front. Narissa links arms with a very stunned-looking Vesper and smiles triumphantly at the assembled commanders in front of her.

"It seems that Mr Heavensbee has written this confirmation of your role in the revolution and has cleared you of all charges. Miss Rosenby, you are free to go."

Vesper's smirk is every bit as wicked as Narissa's, and if she feels any shock or relief, she doesn't let it show. She spins on her heel and stops when she's a short distance from me.

"Haven't you got some cars to move, Commander Paylor? I want to see the City Circle by sunset."

"Delighted to see you still alive, Paylor," whispers Narissa, sounding almost conspiratorial before she follows Vesper out of the tent.

I don't know what to think or how to respond, so in the end I start organising the squads for the attack instead. Grandpa always used to say that if you don't know what to do then you should stick to what you're good at, and it seems like the best idea to me. I just wish I knew exactly when I became included in whatever plan it is that's been cooked up between Narissa and Panem knows who else.

* * *

><p>We're approaching that dark hour before dawn by the time we're ready to attack, but when the first cars are sent into enemy territory, none of us feel like sleeping. Dalton's words were true, it won't last, but while it works it works wonderfully. The cars trigger the pods even when we follow Senior Command's orders and don't set them alight first. We've taken most of the Capitol with hardly any casualties, and all around me there are rebel soldiers staring at each other as if they can't believe their luck.<p>

We really know we're winning when we're greeted with the sight of the backs of fleeing Capitolians every time we turn a corner or approach a new block. They're all leaving their homes and the temporary lodgings they no doubt thought put them out of the reach of the rebels, heading ever closer towards the City Circle because it's the only place still in the hands of the government they've always relied on in the past.

"Tell them to stop swapping the flags," I call, nodding to Luce and Baize to ensure my message is passed down the line.

The closer we get to the City Circle, the bigger the mansions and the more wealthy their occupants, and as most of these people have been made either rich or richer by President Snow and his minions, they all seem to have felt the need to show their loyalty by attaching flags bearing the Capitol seal to the front of their homes. Many of the rebels have started to cast down these flags, swapping them for roughly made rebel ones like the war's over. But it isn't. It won't be over until we're in control of the whole city. Sometimes I feel like I don't know much, but I know that's true.

"We haven't won yet," I tell Zib when she looks questioningly up at me through brown eyes surrounded by formerly white skin that's now covered in dirt and blood. "If I was a clever Capitolian commander then I'd take a block back and leave the rebel flag in place. Because just look at them," I say, pointing to a squad of young men who amble carelessly into an apartment block flying the phoenix flag of District One. "They don't even have their weapons raised. It's a perfect trap."

* * *

><p>The success of my plan with the cars lasts for a lot longer than I could have hoped, but it runs out in the end. A harsh District Thirteen voice on the radio confirms that for all to hear a few hours after our predawn attack started, announcing that nearly fifty rebels have been killed when pods exploded on streets they considered safe.<p>

"Now what?" asks Adaira, checking her rifle is ready to fire for what must be the thousandth time in the past half an hour.

I shrug my shoulders and slide a little bit further down the wall we're leaning against. What can we do but wait? Although what we're waiting for, I couldn't begin to guess.

"We can't just sit here," says Baize, pushing himself up and walking to the end of the wall to peer around at the deserted street beyond.

I force myself to sit up and look around at them. There are at least four squads in here including my own, and I suddenly find myself as surrounded by my self-appointed sub-commanders as I ever was in Eight. We've been here for at least an hour and I'm still trying to work out why. They have their own orders, not all of them issued by me, but for some reason they're disregarding them and staying here.

Part of me decides it's simply because they know the end of the war is getting closer and they want to go into battle with those they know rather than those they don't, but the rest of me wonders if they're all congregating together because they know something's not right. There are divisions forming between Thirteen and the rebels from other districts already, and even though they're only slight ones, the likes of Baize and Adaira are a lot of things but stupid isn't one of them. I know they'll have started to work it out by now.

"We have to sit here, Baize," I tell him firmly. "Everyone has to move into position before we can carry on, you know that."

He nods in acceptance without saying another word, and to my relief, everyone else does the same. It's freezing cold so we huddle together for warmth, not envying the distant columns of Capitolian refugees heading towards the centre of the city because we've displaced them from their homes.

* * *

><p>"Cam, wake up," I whisper, instinctively keeping my voice quiet even though the crackling of the radio at my belt would instantly alert anyone to our presence anyway.<p>

He doesn't, but he moves slightly, raising the arm that had been wrapped firmly around me just enough so I can reach the offending radio and its accompanying earpiece. I'm more than a little surprised when I recognise the voice I hear as belonging to Plutarch Heavensbee.

"Commander Paylor? I'd heard the good news that you made it back."

"I don't think everyone views the news so positively," I reply pointedly.

There are a couple of seconds of loaded silence before he responds, and by the time he does, every person who'd been sleeping beside me is now wide awake and waiting to see what's going to happen next.

"We can't wait any longer," says Heavensbee, sounding annoyingly like he thinks this will be news to me despite how I've been pushing for us to get on with it ever since I came back. "You are to take your group straight down the main street to the City Circle. We need the buildings cleared so we can get our snipers on the roofs."

"And then what?"

"Snow's last stand will be in the City Circle. We go there and we take him down."

I'm tempted to ask how he can possibly include himself in this when he's many miles away in what I imagine to be relative safety, but I make myself resist. Whatever happens, this is going to be hard enough without making enemies unnecessarily.

"Let's go then!" I shout as I pull the earpiece away. "Everybody move out!"

We're so close to the ever-changing front line that we're in the middle of the big push to take the city centre before we really have time to think. There are people everywhere, soldier and civilian, and they swirl around in a frantic, chaotic blur.

Gunshots send everyone diving for cover, including us. When I look back out into the street, I see the bodies of several white-uniformed Peacekeepers, however intermingled with them are the bodies of ordinary Capitolians who'd been driven from their homes by the fighting and had nowhere else to go. All around me they're screaming and crying. The remaining Peacekeepers are barking orders but they might as well be talking to themselves. Fear has taken over and left rationality far behind.

"They're on the roofs already!" calls Zib, pointing upwards even though any rebel soldiers are too far back for us to see. "This is it, Flax! This is really it!"

Once they've established that the gunfire has temporarily stopped, some of the others move further forwards, raising their weapons and getting ready to join the fight. Cam moves and I instinctively follow him.

"You're better shots than District Thirteen!" I yell, screaming to make myself heard over the rest of the noise. "So prove it! The enemy's over there!"

Several Peacekeepers go down with the first wave of gunshots, and I'm relieved to see the vast majority of civilians continuing to flee towards the City Circle as we prove to be more accurate than our allies above us. More Peacekeepers appear but between us and the rebels on the roofs, they aren't able to stand for long. Onwards and onwards we go, one block at a time, passing the burnt-out shells of cars and hoping they were sent down the street before the Capitolians grew wise to how we were activating the pods.

Most of the time we're lucky, and though I expect a pod to go off any second, nothing out of the ordinary happens. However we know when we've gone further into the city than ever before when a loud explosion throws half of Adaira's squad twenty feet in the air and deposits them back at our feet as piles of charred skin and bone. I want to scream but I can't. I physically can't make a sound as I stare down at what, until only a few seconds earlier, used to be a person.

"Adaira!" shouts Cali, forgetting where she is because she can't see the woman she's worked with for most of her life.

Cam shies away from the still-smoking remains of a person at his feet and Will promptly brings up his breakfast before sagging against the nearest wall.

Then for a second it's like time stops. There's no sound, no movement, just a flash of purple light coming from the block on my left that feels so wrong that for a split second I'm temporarily paralysed with what I can only describe as complete terror. Lucan shouts for everyone to run as if he knows what's coming next isn't good, and Cam barrels right into me, knocking me away from the purple light that stops only a couple of metres from where I stood.

Lucan slams into the first door we reach, heedless of the glass that shatters all around him and cuts the skin of his hands to shreds. He literally throws Zib inside and Cam pushes me after them. The others stream in after us, and we all take cover in what looks to be an abandoned grocery shop that's long since been emptied. We gather around the window to look back out onto the street, but then immediately wish we hadn't.

At first, the people who'd been caught in the purple light remain still, unchanged but unmoving. But then I gasp in horror as they double over in pain, clutching their faces and covering their ears as they attempt to stop the blood that suddenly floods out of them onto the ground at their feet.

"What in Panem is that?" stammers Adaira as she pushes through the group to crouch by the window beside me.

She seemingly subconsciously leans back against Cali slightly and she's physically shaking, although I can't tell if that's because of the scene in the street outside or because of her narrow brush with death only moments before. The hair on one side of her head is now a singed mess and that side of her face is bright red with burns, but it's the sight of tears running down her undamaged cheek that makes me want to move closer.

"I don't know," I reply honestly as the purple light vanishes and the poor unfortunates who were caught in its grip slump to the floor. "I don't want to know."

"Flax-"

"We have to go now," I say, trying to sound as firm and commanding as I can when really I just want to curl up in a corner and hide until it's all over. "We can't turn back now. We've come too far."

I force myself to stand up, and as everyone else is still crouched down, I'm suddenly looking down on all of them. The entire shop floor is covered by rebel soldiers, some of whom I recognise from home and some I don't. There are no squads anymore. We're beyond the time to think about formal military structure. Perhaps everyone's seen too much of this dirty, filthy, lawless war to really care anyway.

Either way, the Peacekeepers have all vanished back down the road I know leads to the City Circle and we're only a short distance away. The only way we can go is forwards.

* * *

><p>The closer we get to our destination, the more people there are closing in around us. Rebel soldiers from every division and district surge towards the president's mansion, baying for Snow's blood with every stride as they finally sense victory. Capitolian citizens scatter in every direction.<p>

I can see the fear on the faces of some, and decide that they are the sensible ones. They should be scared. They've enjoyed their luxurious lifestyles for years and cheered as the children of the districts died in the Games. If and when the rebels win, it will be our turn to be in control. And I know several people who won't be in the mood to show mercy.

We're spilling out into the City Circle before I know it, and I instinctively grasp Zib's arm, pulling her to the side and away from the head of the group. The others follow me, as I knew they would, and we watch as more and more people stream past.

"Flax, you should see this!"

I look up in response to Cali's voice and find her standing at the top of the staircase that leads to the front door of the massive house we're standing at the foot of. She's staring out across the square, and there's something in her expression that makes me push a path through everyone else so I can join her. What I see leaves me totally speechless.

Before I came here, I thought President Snow could sink no lower. I thought it was impossible for the man I've hated all my life to do something new that could make me loathe and despise him more than I already do. However when I see the crowd of Capitolian children trapped in an enclosure in front of the presidential mansion and surrounded by Peacekeepers, I abruptly change my mind.

I desperately try to think of a way around it, because I know with absolute certainty that Coin won't hesitate to kill them all if it's the only way she can get to Snow, but I can't think straight when I'm standing here. I race back down the steps and begin to push my way through the mob.

Then the City Circle explodes.

* * *

><p>In the minutes that followed the two explosions that were only a few short minutes apart, everyone in the City Circle stopped. Rebel and Capitolian alike, everyone stopped, struck dumb by the sheer horror of the atrocity they'd just witnessed. I was too buried in the middle of the crowd to see it actually happen, but I can see the aftermath and that's more than enough.<p>

The air is full of screams and crying, and what used to be the cold, stone enclosure is now a blood red vision of horror. There are more dead children than living, and all around me there are whispers about a hovercraft bearing the Capitol seal that had appeared briefly but has long since vanished from sight. I stare at the place where everyone's saying it had been anyway. I don't know what else to do.

But then someone calls me and the sound of my name makes me look away. I look straight at the devastation that surrounds us, the devastation we created, and something inside snaps. I abruptly can't stay here. The fighting's over. There's nothing left for me to do. If I leave then there's nobody to stop me, not if I go now.

I race back the way I came, pushing through the crowd without noticing who I'm running into. To begin with I feel like I could run forever, but once I've got out of sight of the City Circle and the images of death don't change, all the energy drains from me completely.

I push the nearest door and stumble into a previously rich and elaborate entrance hall that's been reduced to dust and shards of glass by the battle, not even bothering to go further inside before collapsing to the floor. I should be happy. Snow's got nowhere to go now. We've won. And I saved as many lives as I took. I did the best I could with what I had. I couldn't have done any more. So why does victory feel so close to defeat?

* * *

><p>I can tell how much time passes only by the changes in the light that shines through the broken window. I've been here for hours and people will have missed me by now. But I don't want them to see me like this. I don't want them to see my tears.<p>

"Everyone's looking for you, Flax," says Cam as he pushes past the front door and it half falls off its hinges.

"Who's everyone?" I mumble, not bothering to wipe the tears from my cheeks because it's Cam. He's seen everything I am, good and bad, and I have no secrets. "Maybe I don't want to see them."

"Everyone," he repeats. "From Zib, Cali and the others to Senior Commander Hodge."

"Senior Commander?"

"Promotion, for bravery in battle apparently. Direct from Coin herself according to rumours. Coin and Heavensbee and the rest are on their way here from One already."

"From One?"

"They started to move closer once they saw it was all nearly over."

I nod, but what I was going to say won't come out. All I can see in my mind is the images of the City Circle at the end, of the purple light and the people whose insides spilled out of them right before my eyes. I don't think I'll ever forget the horror on their faces.

"It's over," says Cam softly, sitting down on the floor beside me and pulling me close. "Or it will be very soon."

"Cam-"

"There's nobody else here to see you. You don't have to be Commander Paylor for me."

"Maybe I want to be," I reply, attempting a smile.

"Just be Flax for a while. Please. For me."

I put my arms around him as best as I can with all the pieces of uniform and weaponry attached to both of us, and when he rests his head on my shoulder, I can feel the wetness of his tears on my neck. Cali told me he cried when they all thought I was dead, but in all the years I've known him, I've never once seen him cry.

"What happens now?" I ask eventually, pushing him away only far enough so I can see his face.

"I don't know. What do you want to happen?"

"I don't suppose it'll matter what I want for a while. We need to put the pieces back together. If we can."

"Will you come back to Eight? Will you come back to Eight _with me_?"

"There's nothing left of home, Cam."

"We're left of home. Us and Zib and Cali and Baize and all of the others. There's no Capitol now, Flax. We can go home and be free."

"I-"

"No, Flax. Give me an answer. I'm not very good at this, but… I know what we've all been through and I know none of us are thinking straight, but I need to know. Not about Eight and where we're going and what's going to happen next. I need to know about us. I love you, Flax Paylor. I've loved you for as long as I can remember. Forget everything else for just a second and imagine we're the only two people here. Do you love me back?"

"If you don't know the answer to that then you're even more stupid than I thought."

"I need to hear you say it. Then whatever's going to happen next can happen and we'll deal with it. I just need to hear-"

"I love you, Cambric Marshall. Don't expect me to say it again because I'm even worse at expressing emotion than you, but I do."

"Once is good enough for me," he replies, and I can see his wide smile through the layer of blood and dirt that covers his skin.

"I'm not so sure we'll just be able to walk out of here," I say, offering my scratched and torn hand and returning his smile when he takes it.

"Why?"

"You remember everything I've told you about the meetings in Command? You remember what I told you about Thirteen?" He nods so I carry on, lowering my voice without really realising. "Something's not right here. We beat Snow but it's not over. I wish it was but it's not."

"But the hovercraft… When Snow took out his own people's children, he lost virtually all of his supporters. There's no one left to fight."

"You're so naïve sometimes," I say, reaching out and pushing his hair back from his face. "Snow was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Do you really think he would have dropped bombs on his own people like that?"

"If he didn't then…"

"Coin," I answer flatly. "She's had her own agenda right from the start and we haven't seen half of it yet."

"But how?"

"With my damn hovercraft," growls a fierce Capitolian voice as Narissa Redsparrow walks in, daintily sidestepping the collapsed door without so much as a pause. "How very clever of you, _Commander Paylor_. Plutarch said you'd work it out for yourself."

"What do you think you're doing listening to a private conversation? How long have you been eavesdropping?"

"Long enough to know you know the truth about what's going on here."

"What do you want? How did you even find me?"

"This is still my city, Paylor. I know a lot of people and my grandmother knew even more. I have spies everywhere. But enough of that. It's time. Before she gets her feet under the proverbial table. Are you with us?"

"Why do you need me? What can I do?"

"False modesty doesn't suit you. Answer the question."

I look at Cam and he looks at me. He still wants out, I can see it in his eyes. He still wants to go back to Eight. But I know I can't. If nobody acts now then it's only a matter of time before we're back to where we started just with Coin instead of Snow. We've fought too hard and sacrificed too much to let that happen.

"I'm sorry, Cam, but District Eight will have to wait a bit."

"I know," he replies, and then I realise that he knew what my response would be even before I did.

If I walk away now then I somehow know everything we've done and everything we've sacrificed will have been for nothing. I'd never forgive myself so I have to stay.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Not that far from the end now... Thanks to everyone who's reviewed :)<strong>_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

When the City Circle fell, I expected Coriolanus Snow to be dragged out of his mansion and executed instantly. There was even a part of me that wanted to see it happen. He deserves it after everything he's done. Anything less is too good for him, and the people of the districts should see justice, no matter what.

I don't think I'm an evil or amoral person, especially not judging by the standards I've seen from both sides during this war, but I find it hard to imagine myself responding to a call for mercy from Snow. Not that I think he'd make one. I hope he wouldn't. I hope he never does. Hearing him plead for clemency might make him seem slightly more human, and I don't think I could stand that. I don't think many of us could.

However at the moment, the victorious rebels are keeping their former dictator under house arrest. He's locked up in his mansion with guards on each exit and window. I should know, because my squad and every other soldier in the eighth division has to take their turn on guard duty. Still, it could be worse. We could be like the District Thirteen civilians who arrived here with Coin. They have to take it in turns monitoring the footage from the surveillance cameras that watch Snow's every move twenty-four hours a day. Heavensbee insisted on them, leaving nothing to chance. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks he's still Head Gamemaker and the aftermath of the war is just one big Hunger Games.

I suppose he's lucky really. At least he thinks he knows what he's doing next, at least he thinks he has a plan. I feel like I'm stumbling from one day to the next, wanting nothing more than to go back to Eight but at the same time knowing I can't. Besides, even if I did, I dread to think what I'd find there. I don't want to admit it but I'm not entirely sure the memories of the uprising won't suffocate the feeling of home I like to think I associate with the place.

"So you've had the summons as well then?" asks Dalton as I turn the corner and begin to walk towards the City Circle.

I nod. "The first meeting of the temporary government. Who'd have thought it?"

"Our new esteemed leader's laying down the law already," he replies, lowering his voice as he falls into step at my side. "Some rebels from my district found a stash of food and were trying to sell it back to some of the Capitolians. They were arrested by District Thirteen lackeys virtually instantly."

"But she's only been in the city for less than a day."

"Since when has that got in the way of District Thirteen rules?"

"Have you heard anything about the Mockingjay?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders in response to his question and then asking one of my own. "Is she awake yet?"

"No," he replies. "She hasn't woken since they found her after the explosion. She's in a real bad way apparently. Still in the hospital and showing no sign of being well enough to come out."

I sigh, partly in sympathy for Katniss Everdeen, the girl from Twelve who lost her sister in the bombing that ended the war, and partly with regret because the Mockingjay isn't in any fit state to oppose Coin. Assuming she wants to, of course. She's never publicly supported the District Thirteen president but she's never truly opposed her either. I couldn't begin to guess at what she thinks. All I know is that some day soon, what the figurehead of the revolution decides to do might matter to all of us. I wonder if she comprehends the weight of the expectation on her shoulders.

"Let's get it over with then," I say, pushing open the massive door to the Capitolian Town Hall and holding it back until we're both inside.

* * *

><p>I've never seen anything like the Capitol, and the Town Hall is no exception. It's virtually undamaged by the fighting. The paintings on the wall, the gilt-framed mirrors and the carpet so thick my shoes sink into it and disappear are unchanged since President Snow walked this way to meet his own government. It's ten times more luxurious than even Satin de Montfort's house, and I'm almost too scared to breathe. I miss Zib and the others. I wish they could see this. And I miss Cam already. I have a feeling all this wouldn't seem quite so scary if he was walking beside me in Dalton's place.<p>

"It's good of you to come, Commander Paylor," says Coin from her position at the head of the massive mahogany table as I walk tentatively into the meeting room.

I look around at all the throne-like chairs, finding myself imagining the Capitolian governors I'd seen so often on the television sitting in them and casually deciding our fates. My eyes drift subconsciously to Coin's right, and I picture Prisca Oakhurst sitting beside Snow. We never did capture her or find her body. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she's behind some of the resistance still going on over on the far side of the city.

"I got the impression it wasn't an invitation I could refuse," I reply cagily, sitting down as far from her as I can and trying not to let my expression change when Narissa Redsparrow and Plutarch Heavensbee walk in and sit on either side of me.

They remind me of soldiers facing off before a battle, but I try to push that thought aside. If they were deliberately trying to symbolise anything of the sort then they'd hardly put me in the middle. My imagination's just running away with me again.

"I can't imagine why anyone would want to refuse to be a part of forming the new Panem we have the opportunity to create."

"I'm sure they wouldn't," says another voice before I can think of a reply, and I turn to see yet another Capitolian, a middle-aged woman who clearly hasn't been fighting or caught up in the battles, take her place at the table.

I don't know her name and she doesn't introduce herself, but I get the impression that everyone else in the room with the exception of Dalton knows exactly who she is. She's closely followed by Hodge and a number of other grey-uniformed people from Thirteen, some of whom fought in the war and others who didn't.

Every seat at the table is occupied by the time our self-appointed new president calls for order, but it still doesn't seem right to me. There are a lot of Thirteens here, and perhaps more surprisingly, a lot of Capitolians, but hardly any of the other districts have a representative. The first thing I'd do if it was up to me would be to have each district elect a representative so every part of Panem had a voice on this new council. But it's not up to me, so I say nothing, trying to suppress the feeling that the faces may have changed but the set up is very much the same.

"Firstly we have to deal with the problem of the small pockets of Capitolian resistance," Coin says.

"We propose to deploy soldiers immediately, before any resistance has chance to take hold," continues Heavensbee, almost like they're fighting a private war to be in charge of the meeting.

I exchange a look with Dalton, who is probably the only other non-Thirteen person here who actually led soldiers into battle outside their own district. The non-verbal response I get from him tells me he's thinking exactly what I'm thinking. Why hasn't that already been done? Why wasn't it done as soon as they'd secured Snow's mansion?

"Perhaps Commander Paylor should take control of the mission?" suggests Coin, lightly as if she doesn't mean anything by it when I imagine virtually everyone in the room knows the truth.

"Commander Paylor's time is best used here," replies Narissa, sounding equally as calm on the surface but with an edge to her voice Coin didn't have. "Perhaps the newly promoted Senior Commander Hodge could oversee everything. As a way of cementing his promotion, of course."

"I think that will be for the best," says Heavensbee, sensing weakness on the District Thirteen side and joining in before Coin can respond. "There are precious few representatives from the districts here as it is."

"Is the freedom we fought for so new that we haven't figured out a way for someone to have a say in their own fate yet?" I ask, looking around the table as I abruptly find my voice in response to them all discussing me like I'm not sitting a couple of short metres away.

"Sometimes difficult decisions have to be made in the best interests of everyone," says Coin. "Do you think you should go to subdue the Capitolian insurgents?"

"I will do whatever is required of me by this council," I reply evenly, sounding strangely unlike myself even to my own ears.

I've said my piece and either way, the only way I'll find freedom is when all this has been sorted out. No matter if I stay here or go out fighting again, I'm not able to make my own choices yet, even if people like Heavensbee insist otherwise.

"You will stay here, Flax," says Heavensbee, and the speculative way he looks at me, like he's planning something I couldn't begin to guess at and I'm just a piece in his game, makes me long for the formality of 'Commander Paylor'. "Hodge, take your squad and however many others you need."

"Only kill when you have no other choice," adds Coin, pretending not to notice the subtle way she was defeated at the hands of the Capitolians. "Bring me prisoners. The trials will begin in the morning."

I only begin to process what she means by that when the huge door glides open and everyone turns around. A group of people walk in, and I immediately recognise their leader. Heavensbee jumps up from his seat and Satin de Montfort slides neatly into it with her husband hovering closely behind. Falco Hazelwell waits further back by the door and there's another man I don't know standing next to him. However I barely notice any of them after a few seconds because my eyes are drawn to the tiny baby girl in Satin's arms. She must have given birth just as the war was ending.

"What is the meaning of this?" splutters Coin immediately. "This is the first meeting of the new government," she continues, and I can't help noticing how she seemingly unintentionally left out the 'temporary'. "You cannot bring that…child in here."

"Her name's Sapphire," replies Satin mildly. "Sapphire Cashmere de Montfort-Lancaster. And there's no law that says she can't be in here. Yet. Although I'm sure you'll find a way to get one passed soon enough."

"Give it five minutes and she'll be 'Saffy'," says Dalton in a loud stage whisper. "Is she our newest member of government? I've a feeling she might make more sense than most of the people already around this table."

"No," answers Satin amusedly. "But I am. I speak for District One as I did before."

Her last words are firm, and she stares straight at Coin as if she's daring her to argue. Little Sapphire squirms in her mother's arms when Falco approaches the table, and though he smiles slightly in response to her as she turns her head towards him, his eyes suddenly fill with what can only be grief. I understand why when I see the baby's eyes. They're a bright sky blue as vivid as her Aunt Cashmere's were.

I can see Coin watching Satin, her expression one of intense concentration as she tries to decide if the new arrival can be trusted. When she shuffles the papers on the table in front of her and moves on to talking about the details of tomorrow's so-called war crimes trials, I realise she's reserving judgement entirely.

After spending the next four hours closeted in that room, I decide as I leave that we've discussed everything apart from how Panem will be governed in the future. Coin's delaying. I know she is, but I can't begin to guess why.

* * *

><p>"So what's going on then?" asks Zib as soon as I walk into the kitchen of the massive Capitolian mansion she appropriated yesterday. "Announced any plans for world domination yet?"<p>

"Even Coin doesn't work that quickly," I reply, pulling myself up onto one of the strange tall chairs that are arranged around the kitchen island.

"There's nothing quick about it though," says Lucan as he appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belongs here. "She'll have been planning this for years."

"They're starting the trials for the prisoners tomorrow. That's the only thing that was decided for certain today."

"How are they going to try them?" asks Cam as he sits in the chair beside me and I lean back against him without thinking.

"About time," says Zib, her knowing smile mirroring Lucan's as they both watch us.

I scowl at her half-heartedly but I don't move. The meeting in the Town Hall and the eeriness of the City Circle made me cold despite how the blood has been scrubbed off the floor, and this is the first time I've felt warm and secure all day.

"In the old courtrooms," I say, turning around slightly so I can look up at Cam. "Starting with the relatively minor and insignificant ones and building up to Snow later on when they've gathered a bit of momentum, apparently. Which I'm guessing really means they're waiting for more people to arrive here so they can create a bigger spectacle."

"I can't say I blame them for that," says Cali as she displaces Lucan from his position in the doorway. She's the only one of us still with blood on her clothes, so I'm guessing she's been at the hospital all night, treating those wounded in the final days of the war. "I know I'll be there when they sentence him to death. I want to look the man who killed Dimity in the eye."

"And what do you think you'll see?" I reply tiredly. "If you're expecting regret or repentance then you'll have to wait a long time."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, but I've spoken to people who have. He spends his time reading books and gardening like nothing's happened."

I literally jump when I hear the knock at the back door, and Cam has to grasp my arm so I don't fall off the ridiculous thing Capitolians dare to call a chair. The others all look to me so I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't think anyone knows I'm staying here."

"It's bound to be someone for you, Flaxie," says Zib, pushing herself off the worktop and crossing to the door. "We're all just very small fish in a very big pond, numbers on a piece of paper, but you're famous."

"You can go off people, _Zibeline_," I retort, trying not to smile even though hearing her tease me like she always used to before the war makes me want to. "I'm not famous."

"Commander Paylor?"

I crane my neck to see Will standing on the doorstep, anxiously scanning the room and breathing a sigh of relief when he sees me.

"How's Eliza?"

"She'll be fine soon," he replies. "She's still up at the hospital but she's getting better all the time. You should see the Capitol hospital. It's like another world. And all the things they have… It's amazing. They could cure anything there…"

"He's right," says Cali, her expression almost angry. "All the things we've always lacked in the districts and other things we didn't know enough about to miss. It's all up there, hoarded in there for the benefit of a select few."

Everyone's silent for a couple of minutes as we think about that, but I can't help noticing how nervous Will looks, how he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other and twisting the button on his coat around and around until I think it's about to fall off in his hand.

"Why are you here, Will?"

"To see you, Commander Paylor. I didn't think I'd be able to find the right house because the directions I had were so confusing, but-"

"And why do you need to see me? Who sent you?"

"A man gave me this," he says, holding out a piece of bright white paper towards me. "To start with I didn't understand why but then a woman gave me some directions that brought me here. She told me to give this to you."

I shake my head, suddenly lost for words as I remember the days when I thought all my troubles would be over if we overthrew President Snow and his government. I thought life would be easier, but apparently I was wrong. It seems I'm destined to be caught up in this game that has rules I can't even begin to understand.

"Thank you," I say, reluctantly getting up to take the paper and then nodding back towards the door, dismissing him without even thinking about it.

He salutes sharply and vanishes before I have chance to tell him we're not at war any more and that he doesn't have to do that now.

"What was all that about?"

"I don't know, Cam."

"Is it something to do with Coin? Or Heavensbee?"

I unfold the paper and all I find written on it is a single line that looks like an address. I scrunch it up and let it drop to the floor before reaching up and entwining my fingers in my hair. I stumble against a cupboard but I barely feel the pain of the sharp corner connecting with my hip. It's only when I find myself sitting back on the chair that I realise Lucan caught me and put me there before I could fall to the ground.

"Have you eaten?" asks Cali, racing around the kitchen, opening cupboards as she goes.

"Try behind the big fireguard in the sitting room," suggests Lucan knowingly, and sure enough, Cali disappears and then returns with several tins of food.

I shake my head but feel slightly less shaky and manage to retrieve the piece of paper. The address means nothing to me so I hold it up for the others to see. Even Lucan shakes his head.

"Finish one rebellion and another one starts," I say eventually, taking the rice pudding Cali offers to me because I haven't got the energy to argue with her. "I…I don't know what to do."

"Can you give us a minute?"

The others nod and quickly leave the room so only Cam and I remain. He moves to stand in front of me and carefully rearranges my hair so it's neat again after I'd messed it up earlier.

"You say you don't know what this is all about and I believe you, but I think you have an idea. Tell me."

"Heavensbee and some of the original Capitolian rebels won't accept Coin. They're going along with it now until the dust's settled, but peace won't last."

"You've been there at all the meetings in Command and then the one today. What do you think?"

"That Coin won't let anyone be free. There's nothing moderate about what she wants. I can't prove it but I can sense it, Cam. There's something about the look she has in her eyes. It reminds me of the overseers at the factories. It reminds me of Snow."

"Then you have to fight it. You might hate it but you _are _famous, Flaxie. All the things you did in Eight and then when we came here did that. People know who you are and they respect you. You have the power to do something, so you should try. Nobody from home will be a slave again, and they'll all fight for you."

"Maybe I'm tired of fighting."

"We're all tired of fighting," he replies. "Well, maybe other than Adaira," he adds, and he returns my instinctive smile. "But some day it'll all be over. And then I'll take you back to Eight and marry you like I should have done fifteen years ago."

"But I'm the legendary Commander Paylor, Cambric Marshall," I tease. "There's no way you can keep me barefoot and pregnant in your tenement block now."

"I never would have."

"I know," I reply softly. "Will you come with me?"

I hold the crumpled paper up and he nods immediately.

"Do you really think I'd let you go on your own?"

* * *

><p>Just like they were in the days leading up to the end of the war, the Capitol streets are full of people. Most of them are rebel soldiers still in uniform, determined to keep order when former citizens of the districts are already starting to arrive in the big city. Many of them don't seem in a hurry to let bygones be bygones, and though I agree with them and can't think of much I'd want more than to take some of my anger out on our former dictators, if I were Alma Coin then I'd have let the fences surrounding the districts stand for a little longer. In fact I might be a little more forceful about that when we meet again tomorrow. Letting everyone run riot after so many decades of slavery and servitude isn't going to help anyone.<p>

"Adaira? What are you doing out so late?" I ask, holding my hand out to stop her as she goes to stride unseeingly past me.

"Guard duty," she spits. "I can't believe they're making me stand there with a gun in my hand when he's right _there_ on the other side of the door. I could shoot him, Flax. I could just go in there and pull the trigger."

I know instantly that she means Snow without her having to say so, and I find myself nodding in agreement without really thinking about it.

"I could shoot him as well," I tell her gently. "But you know that's not the way. He'll die, I promise you, but not hidden away where no one can see. He has to have a trial, you know that. We have to be better than he was or this is all for nothing."

"You think any of those Capitolians they're keeping prisoner are going to get a fair trial? I shouldn't care, really I shouldn't. Most of them deserve to be lined up to face a firing squad anyway, but…"

"Hiding what we're doing behind a false façade of justice doesn't make us better than those who came before us?"

She nods. "Something like that."

"It's not over yet. We won't go back to how it was before."

"What do you mean? Where are you going?"

"I'll tell you soon," I reply, mentally cursing myself for forgetting exactly how clever she is and not realising she'd put two and two together so quickly. "I honestly don't really know where I'm going. I just need some time to work everything out myself first."

She nods again. "I've trusted you this far, Paylor. But if you need me then you know where I am."

I smile at her now retreating back as she carries on down the street. Coming from Adaira, that was the equivalent of anyone else declaring their undying love and telling me they'd take a bullet for me if they had to. I'm glad she walked away because I don't think I'd know what to say to her.

"'False façade of justice'?" says Cam teasingly, his voice shocking me out of my trance. "Since when did you talk like that?"

I look up at him for a second because I hadn't thought about it until he said something.

"Too much time in Command meetings, I think," I reply dismissively, grabbing his jacket sleeve and trying to pull him along.

"I like it, _Commander Paylor_," he says, his tone a mixture of suggestive and arrogant in a way I haven't heard since before our first attempt at rebellion.

"Don't you dare start that," I hiss, narrowing my eyes as I search for a house number on the pink mansion we're passing.

He just laughs and then pulls me to a halt as we pass the next building. If the previous one was gaudy and tasteless, this one is a work of art. Everything from the plant pots on either side of the imposing black door to the shutters at the windows are immaculate, even after the war. I try not to, but I can't help staring up at it in awe.

"That's the one," says Cam quietly, also gazing up at the mind-blowing luxury in front of us.

"I know that," I whisper back, wondering if I dare to open the gate.

* * *

><p>As it turns out, I don't need to worry about the gate. It swings slowly open even as we walk towards it. At first I think it's some kind of Capitolian trick that uses technology which costs more than what it would take to feed pre-uprising District Eight for a month, however when I get closer I see the servant hovering in the shadows behind it.<p>

"Do they seriously think they can still have servants after all this?" whispers Cam as we begin to climb the short staircase.

"Some of them do. Some of them don't know any different," I reply, thinking of the time I spent with Vesper and how she's somehow a revolutionary and a traditional Capitolian at the same time.

Then I abruptly don't have to just think of her because she's standing right in front of me, framed by an elaborately carved doorframe only a few short metres away. Gone is the torn clothing and smell of the sewers we both shared after our return to the rebel camp. Instead I find myself looking at the person she surely was before the rebellion, a confident, self-assured person who believes she could own the world.

Next to her perfectly tailored clothes and river of shining hair, I feel more scruffy and out of place than ever, despite how I'm cleaner and better dressed than I've been for a long time. I'm look beaten up by the war and I still have the scars to prove what I've endured. She's totally unblemished and physically unchanged.

"I assume that note was meant for me?" I ask, determined not to let my feeling of inadequacy show. "Why was I told to come here?"

"You know why," she replies, slowly and suspiciously looking Cam up and down when he steps out of the shadows to stand at my side. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Cam. I'd trust him with my life."

She stares thoughtfully back at us for a minute before disappearing into the room behind her. I quickly follow, but then stop dead just as abruptly when I get there, making Cam crash into me as I gaze at my surroundings in shock. I've never seen anything like this room. I've never seen plates and glasses that look like they're made of solid gold. I've never seen furniture polished so much I can see my reflection in it. No wonder the Capitol kept the districts so poor when they had all this to finance.

"You say I know why I'm here but I really don't. I don't even know where I am."

"You're not stupid, Flax," replies Vesper, trailing her finger pointedly across the front of one of the framed pictures on the sideboard before sitting down on an armchair by the fire. "You know the war's not over yet."

I walk further into the room, glancing at the picture and seeing a girl I quickly recognise as a much younger Narissa. A lot of the photographs are of her, and I look at them until Vesper clears her throat to drag my attention back to her.

"But why am I _here_? Why am I in whoever's house this is? Why am I talking to you?"

"Because this is the Capitol and everyone has spies everywhere. Because you can't very well meet publicly with Plutarch without Coin, can you? Until the dust settles, you're better off hearing what you need to know from a vain, shallow and stupid Capitolian like me."

I narrow my eyes at her distrustfully. She might be vain and shallow at times, but Vesper isn't stupid and we both know it. Everyone in this city knows it, including Alma Coin. So why are we meeting like this? If our new president wants to know then it will be only too easy for her to find out.

"So what do I need to know?" I ask, playing along until I can think of a better plan.

"That Coin's planning to move a lot of her people from Thirteen to here. She's opening up the courts tomorrow partly as a distraction. She's making sure everything's televised across the whole of Panem."

"She's smart," I reply after thinking about it for a minute. "She's going to use the trials of the Capitolians like Snow used to use the Hunger Games here. Stir up the mob until they're baying for blood and then give them what they want so they don't even think about questioning what else you're doing in the background."

"Your girl's clever, isn't she?" Vesper replies, turning her brilliant-white smile on Cam as she puts two and two together to get four in the way only someone like her can. "Totally wasted in textiles manufacturing for all these years."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Now, now, don't be hostile. We're on the same side."

"Are we?"

"Absolutely."

"So what do we do now?" I ask, interrupting before they get into the argument I can see coming from a mile off.

"For now, nothing. We watch and we wait. There are too many uncertainties still. Too many displaced people who are too concerned with fleeing for their lives to realise the war's over."

"So we give it a short time to settle and then…?"

"Coin can't stand against all of us. There weren't that many people in District Thirteen. Plutarch was there for months, and 'Rissa was doing some spying of her own in case the Thirteens were concealing anything else he didn't know about. If everyone unites against Coin like they did against Snow then she won't stand a chance. But we have to get the right people in the right places first. We have to be able to provide Panem with a credible alternative or they'll all follow Coin like sheep because she's the only one able to give them some semblance of security."

"And the Mockingjay?" Cam asks. "She's still in the hospital, but people look to her. If she regains consciousness and speaks out against Thirteen then that could help."

"That's a lot of ifs, but she could make a difference, especially in places like District Eleven. Which is one of the reasons why we have to wait."

"Fine, so we wait. But then what?"

"We strike," answers Narissa as she walks across the room and throws herself down onto the sofa beside Vesper. "Not with machine guns and bombs like before. With an alternative to Coin that people can believe in."

"And if Thirteen don't like it?"

"I think that's where you come in, Commander Paylor," says Falco Hazelwell as he appears in the doorway like a ghost.

"But-" I start, wondering exactly when I gained so many high-profile Capitolian friends when I've spent the past few months treating them like the enemy.

"We have nuclear weapons and so does Coin, so we're at stalemate that way, but that doesn't mean she won't think she can use her grey-uniformed robots to take at least some of the districts for herself. Which means there's a chance we might need a military leader who isn't Capitol, who the whole Mockingjay army will fight for. And with the real Mockingjay out of action, guess what, Paylor? That's you."

"And if she won't do it?" asks Cam before I can speak, bristling at the tone of Falco's voice.

"She will. Because she won't give up the freedom she's fought for so easily. And if she doesn't then I've lost everything so I have nothing to lose by trying to force or coerce her into it."

"Nobody will be forcing me into anything," I snap, jumping to my feet and heading for the door. "I know you're grieving for Cashmere, but that doesn't give you the right to do and say whatever you like. And you two and Plutarch Heavensbee and whoever else it is are going to have to start talking or I'll begin to think you're playing me for a fool and that this isn't going anywhere. Maybe I'll decide I like District Thirteen grey after all," I finish, glaring at Vesper and Narissa as my anger helps me find my confidence.

"You don't mean that," says Narissa. "I know you don't. You didn't mean it any more than Falco meant what he said."

She looks pointedly over at her friend, and I get the impression it's more the strength of their friendship than any kind of remorse that makes him respond to me.

"All I have left is knowing she wanted to see Panem free," he replies, and he can only mean Cashmere. "I shouldn't have said that in that way, but I'll do whatever it takes. It's all I have left…"

His words trail off in a way that would be almost pathetic had he been most other people, and they're enough to make me stop.

"I'll be part of this, you can tell Heavensbee that. But as an equal not as some minion who's expected to do as she's told without knowing or understanding anything."

"Nobody's saying you're a minion, Flax," replies Vesper, kicking Narissa's thigh to silence her when the other woman looks about to interrupt her attempts to mediate. "But you haven't been here or involved in this sort of thing for long enough to be able to…find your own way around."

Inside my mind I'm screaming, rejoicing that someone finally understands how alien this all is to me, but I remain determined not to let it show on the outside. This is all a bit beyond me anyway, because I was sorting scraps of fabric in a factory when most of the people they talk about were plotting a revolution, but backing down won't get me answers.

"I'll have even less chance of finding my own way around if you don't tell me anything."

"That's why you're here now," says Narissa, taking a deep breath like she's running out of patience. "When Satin de Montfort walked into that meeting earlier, there was something she said that stood out to you. I saw it in your face."

"She said she'd speak for One. That's what I'd do if it was up to me. Not have a president at all and have a council made up of an elected representative from each district."

"How very…revolutionary of you. But yes, that's what I was talking about. At the moment, most of the people with any real influence in the districts are still in the districts. If we try to make our move now then we'll be weaker than we could be in only a couple of short weeks time. Which is why we have to play along for now like good little automatons. Only without the grey-uniforms. For the love of Panem and all that's sacred, I'm not wearing one of those jumpsuits."

"You never know, 'Rissa," says Vesper softly. "It might suit you."

"Two words, love. No. Chance."

"Amusing though this is," I interrupt, for once feeling like the superior and more mature one rather than a scruffy and helpless child who's hopelessly out of her depth. "The longer I stay here, the more time Coin has to get suspicious."

"What's Coin's main weakness, Flax?" asks a totally unrepentant Vesper.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Think about it," barks Falco, his voice as commanding as anyone I heard on the battlefield.

"I don't-" I start, once again getting angry with the way he speaks to me. But then I stop myself, because suddenly I know. "She underestimates people. She thinks everyone's like her lackeys back in Thirteen. She doesn't understand that some people don't like her idea of order and structure and are willing and able to do something to oppose it."

"Exactly. So if anyone asks then Vesper and Narissa invited you here for dinner and I just happened to call in. Coin might be suspicious but she won't be anywhere near as suspicious as she should be because she underestimates all of us. Especially you."

"Why especially me?"

"Because she sees you how you see yourself. She still sees the factory worker who will never amount to anything more, just like you do. It's everyone who fights for you who sees you for who you really are."

"But-"

"He's all important and Capitol, Flax," whispers Cam as he sits down beside me. "Maybe you'll listen to him when you don't listen to me."

"Fine, fine," I reply, speaking more loudly this time. "So I'm just to attend these trials and do my bit without saying anything or doing anything Coin wouldn't want me to do?"

"Yes. Well, sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"There are a few people Coin has arrested who are on our side. Plutarch's doing most of the…problem resolving. But if you get the opportunity to help him then it would be to everyone's best interest."

"How will I know who's on our side? And how do I know they're not just relatives or friends who you don't want on the receiving end of District Thirteen justice?"

"You'll know. Someone will let you know. And as for the other, if you think so little of any of us then we're all wasting our time here."

I never thought I'd see the day when Narissa Redsparrow made me feel guilty about the way I spoke to her, but it looks like she proved me wrong. If I could take it back then I would, but as I can't, I smile slightly in what I hope she takes to be as much of an apology as she's going to get.

She returns my smile and glances briefly at Vesper.

"So can we sit down to eat like normal people now?" asks the blonde woman almost plaintively.

Though I know she's acting as much as ever and deliberately trying to break the ice, I let her because I suddenly don't have the strength to do otherwise. The trials begin in the morning and I'll need all my energy to maintain my own performance then.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Just as Coin promised, the first of the war crimes trials began at nine o' clock sharp the following morning in one of Snow's old courtrooms, the grandest one in the Capitol. I turned up at the appointed time and sat with the rest of the temporary government, feeling more than a little anxious, both about facing some of the most hated people in Panem and also because I couldn't quite believe I was being asked to pass judgement on anybody in the first place.

I went to sit at the back next to Dalton, but Heavensbee patted the seat beside him at the very front and the look Narissa gave me didn't leave room for argument. Then they exchanged a look I couldn't work out, first with each other and afterwards with numerous other people I mostly didn't recognise. I felt like I was missing something vitally important, but when I narrowed my eyes at Satin, she gracefully shrugged her shoulders and turned away. It was too late to question her because Coin had arrived and everyone fell silent.

Over the next two weeks, we remained closeted in that court room for virtually every daylight hour and not a few of the nights. The number of Capitolians Coin and her cronies brought into the dock to face justice was seemingly limitless, and I've seen everyone from the lowliest servant to some of the most powerful names in the country. Nobody mentions his name, but I know each and every person in the courtroom is waiting for Snow.

* * *

><p>"She's getting nervous," I whisper to Cam as we stand outside the entrance to the impossibly grand Justice Building.<p>

"Who?"

"Who do you think?" I reply, still not raising my voice because this is the Capitol and there are ears everywhere. "She's already been to the hospital to see the Mockingjay and people are saying she's seeing enemies everywhere."

"People?"

"A lot of the Avoxes are loyal to Heavensbee and the others. Coin barely registers their existence so they're the perfect spies."

"And what do they say?" he asks. Then he realises what he said and looks embarrassed. "Well you know what I mean."

"What I said. She's just beginning to realise that things won't be as easy for her as she thought."

"Good morning, Flax," says a Capitol-accented voice from behind me, and I turn around to see Phoebe approaching.

She's been part of the revolution since way before Achillea died and Plutarch took over, and she's one of the many people who are adding to Coin's nervousness by sitting on the temporary council. I like her, not in the least because she seems to be one of the few people in Panem willing to give as good as they get to Narissa.

I smile slightly and she stops at my side, glancing at Cam and then back to me. She only speaks after I've nodded to vouch for him.

"Today's the day then."

"The trial's a farce and everyone knows it. It's simply a matter of naming the date for his execution."

"The sooner the better," she replies.

"It will be, the rate Coin's going," adds Satin as she also joins us. Her eldest daughter follows closely behind with her head held high just like her mother's.

It's true what Satin said. The execution rate of people who were part of Snow's government is increasing by the day as Coin tries to win support in the other districts.

"Are they going to kill the bad president today?" asks Victory, pushing past her mother so she's at the centre of our group, looking up at each of us in turn.

"Which bad president?" hisses Phoebe under her breath to me, and her dry tone makes me have to force myself not to laugh.

"Not today," replies Satin. "But soon."

"I want to see him," the little girl says determinedly. "I want to see the man who killed Aunt Cashmere and Uncle Gloss."

"You will, dearest. Soon."

"You're taking her into court with you?" I ask incredulously, realising what the woman from District One's answer meant.

"She has to see, Flax," replies Satin. "If she doesn't see then she won't learn. There's no room for innocence in Panem, not yet."

* * *

><p>Just as I thought, Snow's trial was a formality and nothing more. The former president didn't look so good, sitting behind the glass put up around the dock to shield him from the wrath of the hundreds of people crowded into every available inch of space so they could witness the end of his downfall.<p>

He didn't speak and spent most of the time coughing into a white handkerchief that quickly became stained red with blood. _I _spent most of the time trying to decide if his silence was because he realised how futile trying to defend himself would be or simply because he physically couldn't make himself heard.

Seeing him was almost a let down. I was hoping for someone who looked capable of committing the atrocities he masterminded and yet he appears to be little more than a feeble old man. However he still has that look in his snake eyes, a look that told me he knows what he did and doesn't regret it. That's enough for me and I felt nothing but happiness when Coin sentenced him to death two days from now.

* * *

><p>"So, Almighty Leader, how's he going to die then?" asks Zib as she strides across the room and literally throws herself on top of me as I sit in an armchair by the fire in what we've come to call our house.<p>

I'd been so relieved to be released initially from the courtroom and then from yet another of Plutarch's secret meetings that I'd come here to hide and haven't moved since. After thinking I wanted to be alone, I'm surprised by how good it feels to see my friend. I think it's the first time in many hours that I've seen someone I can trust completely.

"If you call me that one more time then I'll-"

"You'll what?" she retorts, pushing herself up to perch on one of the chair's arms and then grinning down at me.

"Use my newfound authority to get you kicked out of the city," I reply, forcing myself to stay expressionless and keep my voice flat.

"You wouldn't do that to me," she says, reaching out and grasping my hand beseechingly. "Anyway, I have to stay here. Adie's arriving tomorrow."

"Good," I reply instantly. I haven't told Zib everything that's going on behind the scenes but I told her enough to make her believe me when I told her to get Adie out of Thirteen.

"Astraea and Velia and bringing her with them. And they're bringing Nessa and Taffy and the others."

"How about Poplin?"

"She's already here as of a couple of hours ago. From what I heard, Coin's pissed because half of her weapons team are taking 'Lin's orders not hers."

"So you should call _her _Almighty Leader then."

"I don't think so, Paylor. That title's all yours. And you still haven't answered my question."

"The Mockingjay's going to shoot him with her bow and arrow on the balcony of the president's mansion. The day after tomorrow."

She nods and smiles grimly. "At least we'll all be able to go and watch."

"You want to watch that, Zib?"

"Yes," she replies fiercely. "I want to be close enough to see the light in his eyes fade."

Then she pushes herself forwards off the arm of the chair onto my lap and curls up like she used to when we were children. I say nothing and hold her tightly. When she phrases it like that and with that much anger, I really can't find it in me to argue with her.

* * *

><p>The following morning, I have every intention of going to find Zib just to tell her that Adie's hovercraft left Thirteen safely about an hour after dawn. However when I get close to the greenhouse where Snow's being held, where I know my friend's doing her latest guard duty shift, I find that someone else is already there. The sound of voices makes me stop just out of sight around the corner. All three of those voices are as familiar to me as my own, although one for a very different reason to the other two.<p>

"You can't go in, miss," says Lucan formally, slipping easily back into his previous role even though the clothes he wears now are very different to his former Peacekeeper white.

"Soldier," interrupts Zib, and I can hear her rolling her eyes at him even though I can't see either of them. "You can't go in, Soldier Everdeen. President's orders."

I can also hear the subtle contempt in her voice at the mention of President Coin. It's true that the guards on Snow's door have been ordered not to admit anybody for any price, and up until now, that's one of her few rules I've supported. But now I'm here, I have this sudden and almost irrational need to see Snow myself. It makes me a lot less sure Coin's rule is a good thing.

Maybe Katniss will kill him if I let her walk in there, says the nagging voice in my head. Maybe _you'll_ kill him if you do the same, the voice continues. I pause at the thought of how strange it is that my internal voice has started talking about me like I'm someone else entirely. This revolution really has sent me crazy.

"Snap out of it, Flax," I whisper under my breath, giving my strange theory about my own insanity more credence rather than less.

Then I take a deep breath again and start walking. If I think I have the right to see Snow before he's killed then Katniss Everdeen does as well. And besides, she won't kill him. There's hardly a soul in Panem who doesn't want his death to be public and memorable, and though I don't know her, I'm certain Katniss will be no different. She won't want to kill him any more than I do, not because she doesn't want to see him dead but because a death behind closed doors will be too much like mercy.

"Let her go in," I call, subconsciously returning to my battlefield voice like I haven't spent the past two weeks trying to forget it. "On my authority. She has the right to anything behind that door."

Zib and Lucan lower the guns they'd crossed in front of the door without question, and I see the puzzled look on the Mockingjay's face as she ducks past them.

"Are you crazy, Flax?" says Zib as soon as the door closes behind Katniss. "Coin will have your head if anything happens to that bastard in there. Or if anything happens to the nation's saviour."

I try not to smile at the sarcasm in her voice but I can't help it. Zib's always doubted the power of the Mockingjay and those doubts haven't decreased over time. But then any humour abruptly vanishes as my own doubts begin to set in. What if something does happen in there? What if I end up being to blame for the whole of Panem being robbed of the justice it craves?

"Snow's manacled to the wall and Katniss won't harm him. She wants him dead but not like that."

"How do you know?" asks Lucan. "She's still walking around with that bracelet on. She's been classified as mentally disorientated."

"So has Luce and she's as sane as any of us," I retort, thinking of my friend and how she's still traumatised by her near death experience at the end of the war.

"Katniss is different. Luce will get over it in time, but I'm not sure that girl ever will."

"Why did you let her in anyway?" says Zib, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at me. "Why are you here yourself?"

"I-"

"No, you can't. Don't you dare even think about it, Flax Paylor."

"Why not? Satin de Montfort said to me yesterday that if people are ever going to understand something and learn from it then they have to see it. I have to see Snow. I want to see the evil in his eyes up close so I'll always know the people of District Eight didn't fight and die for nothing."

"You know we didn't fight and die for nothing."

I sigh deeply, realising I'm going to have to tell her the whole truth if I'm going to have any chance of getting past her.

"Heavensbee and the others are up to something, Zib, you know that. And I'm getting more and more caught up in it with every hour that passes without really getting much say in anything. There are times when I almost find myself wishing none of this had happened. I have to see Snow because I know it'll make me remember that what we have now has to be better than what we had."

She shrugs her shoulders, inclining her head to me in acceptance. Before she can speak again, the door opens and Katniss emerges.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask, internally sighing with relief at the sight of her.

She still has that slightly unstable air about her, but she meets my gaze evenly and her hands are clean and steady. Nothing untoward happened in there or I'd know. Heavensbee's cameras would have picked it up and then the chaos we've spent the past couple of weeks struggling against would have taken over again.

However what stability she has seems to be hanging on by a thread, and even as she raises her hand to show me what looks like a rosebud, she visibly crumbles before my eyes. As she stumbles past me and away, I go to reach for her but then I stop. She's the Mockingjay, and that means she has people there to help keep her whole. I have something else to do. I have something I have to do for myself.

"I'm going in there, Zib. I mean it. Don't try to stop me."

"I will try to stop you, Flax," she replies firmly, almost sounding like she does when she's talking to a misbehaving Adie. "Because you shouldn't go in there. It doesn't matter what you say, you can't gain anything by seeing that monster."

"I told you," I say, trying to be patient. "There is something I can gain. I have to face my enemy. I have to know that everything we've endured was for a reason. And that all those people buried in that mass grave I authorised back home didn't die for nothing. You understand, Lucan," I continue, turning to look up at him. "I know you understand."

"Sorry, Zib, but she has a point," he says. "And it's not like he's not under constant surveillance."

"Precisely," I add. "I'm sure the whole council will have seen me let Katniss in there and I'll pay for it later."

I step forwards and though she still doesn't move, this time Zib doesn't try to stop me. She throws her gun expertly onto her shoulder and grips both my upper arms tightly.

"Five minutes, Flax. If you're not back here by then I'll come in after you. And if I see him then I'll probably shoot him. Let that be an incentive for you to make it quick."

I pull her against me for what feels like less than a second before pushing the door open and stepping across the threshold.

* * *

><p>There are roses everywhere, roses of virtually every colour I can imagine and then some I've never seen before except on the television. There weren't whites as white as this and purples of tones like that back in the permanent greyness of District Eight.<p>

"Well this is a pleasant surprise," says a voice from behind one of the raised beds. "I do seem to be having a lot of visitors today."

I don't know what I expected but it wasn't what I've got. What I've got sounds very much like polite and well-mannered curiosity, and if it weren't for the number of times I've heard that same voice making the announcements and judgements which created the horrors of my pre-revolution life then I wouldn't believe it really was Coriolanus Snow hidden behind those unnaturally perfect flowers.

However I walk further along the path and then I see him. I jump a step backwards because his eyes are the same as those that have haunted my nightmares since I was a small child. Just like in the court room, when I look directly at him now, there's no doubt in my mind that he knows and understands the atrocities he's committed and feels no remorse.

"Commander Flax Paylor," he says thoughtfully, not looking away for a second.

My first instinct is to ask him how he knows me when we've never met before, but I force myself to keep quiet. He's bound to know me after everything that happened during the uprising and the war that followed it. Admitting I didn't realise that straight away is a sign of weakness I know I can't afford to show.

"I feel I should congratulate you for causing me as much trouble as you did over the past few months."

"I tried my best," I reply, deciding after the words have left my mouth that I probably shouldn't have said that either but not quite bringing myself to regret it.

"I don't doubt it," he says, every bit as carefully polite as he was before. "You know of my chief advisor, I assume."

I nod and desperately hope he doesn't see me shudder as I think of her.

"Prisca was most vexed with you."

"Do you know where she is now?" I ask quickly, but I realise just as quickly that if I was hoping to catch him off guard then I was wasting my time.

"My dear Commander Paylor, you're an exceedingly clever lady. Do you seriously expect me to tell you even if I did?"

"Not really," I reply evenly. "But as you've been sentenced to death, I don't see what you've got to lose."

"Sentenced to death?" he repeats, and the menacing edge to his voice appears for the first time. "The term 'sentenced' implies I had a fair trial and was found guilty. I don't think that can be said, do you?"

"You _are _guilty," I snap, but then I make myself take a deep breath and push my rage back below the surface. "And I think you were lucky. At least you had a trial. If this was still your Panem then it would've been torture and a slow and painful death."

"But you have to ask yourself the question, was my Panem really so bad? I imposed order and control. Everyone knew their role and their place and we lived in peace. Now you have nothing but mindless anarchy. You'll be extinct within a few generations."

"You have a strange notion of peace. And if I had a choice then I'd choose mindless anarchy any day."

"Such an idealist," he whispers, seemingly unaware of the trail of blood running from one corner of his mouth. "Such strong beliefs in what is right and what is wrong. But be careful, Commander Paylor. There are people in this city who aren't so moral, and they'll use you to achieve their own ends, I can promise you that. They'll manipulate you until you think their beliefs are yours, and there will be nothing you can do about it."

"I can look after myself. I won't let anyone manipulate me. And that includes you. I'm going now. Thank you for reminding me what I was fighting for."

He calls after me, the sound of my own name echoing strangely around the greenhouse. When I don't respond or stop, he laughs, a cold, high-pitched sound that I know I'll remember for a lot longer than I'll remember the exact words he spoke to me today.

Once I'm out of sight, I keep running and don't look back.

* * *

><p>"Flax, you can't sit out here all night."<p>

I turn around to see Cam hovering by the balcony doors, clearly torn between retrieving me and making sure he doesn't have to look over the edge into the City Circle below. He's never liked heights and I doubt that will ever change.

"I'm a member of the temporary government, I can do what I like."

Desire to be with me quickly wins out, and he takes a couple of steps forwards. There's only one chair out here so he sits down on the floor at my feet. I try to pull him back up, but he shakes his head and says he'd rather stay where he is because he can't see over the ledge. When I laugh, I realise it's the first time I've laughed all day.

"Where have you been all day?"

"Didn't Zib tell you? I went to see Snow."

"You what?"

"You heard me. I went to see him. I _had_ to see him, because-"

"I know why, Flax," he replies, softly interrupting me as he leans his head back against my knees. "And was he?"

"Was he what?"

"Everything you've always believed he was."

"Yes. And no. He looks so frail, like there's no way an old man like him could do all the things he did. But then he speaks, and he has this way of looking at you like he can see right inside you and learn everything he could use to break you."

"He won't break you. Nobody will break you. I won't let them."

"He won't get the chance to break me, Cam," I reply, reaching out and trailing my fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck. "He's going to be shot. Tomorrow. Right here on this balcony."

"And then what?"

"Then the old enemy will be gone. Then we'll see who really has the power and who just thinks they do."

"You mean Coin and Heavensbee."

"Who else? Their alliance was only ever going to last for as long as it took them to finish Snow. They've done that now. Now it'll begin all over again."

"The offer's still there, you know? We could just leave. Take everyone who wants to come with us back to Eight and start again."

"There's nothing I want more. Truly. But do you really think whoever wins this thing will let us be? Nobody's going to just hand us Eight to do with what we want. Until it's over, we won't be free."

"You're talking like you've swallowed a dictionary again, Flaxie," he teases, sensing the dark turn of my mood and trying to help me shake it. "You'd make a really convincing politician now."

"Don't say that," I reply immediately, trapping his hand with mine and holding it over my hip. "If Heavensbee's thing works and his people are in charge, I'm on that first train back to Eight with you. I've earned that and he knows it. Or at least I hope he does. "

* * *

><p>It's morning when I wake up. That's the first thing I notice, the sunlight shining through the vast window that takes up most of one side of the room. Cam's room. The second thing I notice is that I'm covered with one of those fine Capitolian silk sheets and not a lot else.<p>

"Cam?"

I sit up, but when I look to the side, his half of the bed is empty. The door slowly opens and I instinctively pull my sheet higher.

"There's some Capitol woman here, Flax," says Cam as he appears in the doorway, smiling at me like the weight of the world's suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. "She wants to see you."

"Why? They're not putting Snow on the balcony with the Mockingjay until this afternoon. Which Capitolian anyway? It can't be Vesper or Narissa because I'd be talking to them not you if it was."

"She says her name's Phoebe."

"Give me a minute," I tell him before swinging my legs over the side of the bed and beginning to dress. "Leave!" I add with mock harshness as I feel his eyes watching me. "Tell her I'll be two seconds."

He laughingly does as I say and he's waiting at the foot of the stairs with a very tired-looking Phoebe when I go to meet her a short time later.

"What's happened?" I ask, stopping a couple of steps up so I don't have to look up to either of them. "I thought we were timetable free until lunchtime."

"I'll tell you in a minute," she replies softly. "But first I want to thank you for speaking up for Phoenix. He's a good boy really, just with a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'll take your word for it because I don't know him," I answer, remembering the young Capitolian man who'd been one of the last prisoners to be tried in court yesterday. "All I know is that you have to look after your people in this Panem as much as in the old one. If he was on the wrong side then it's your job to make him understand that, not Coin's."

"Thank you," she repeats, looking on the edge of tears even more than before in a way that reminds me she's already lost one child in the war and genuinely thought she was about to lose a second. "Thank you."

"Why are you here, Phoebe?" I prompt her gently.

"Because our new president is up to something. We thought you should know. There's a meeting in the old Control Room and a lot of people want you to be there."

"The Control Room?"

"Well, the Gamemakers' part. Old habits die hard with Plutarch and he knows none of the Thirteens have dared to go in there in case everyone else starts associating them with everything the Games stood for."

"Like they're not already," I say dryly, but then I sigh deeply and walk down the remaining couple of steps, as resigned to my fate as ever.

* * *

><p>I soon learn that the Control Room is located behind the Training Centre, and when I follow Phoebe inside, I quickly also learn that it's one of the places which certainly hasn't been left untouched during the rebel takeover. I knew about the damage already of course, because I knew about it directly from the chief instigator, but it's still a shock to see it up close no matter what Cali said. She wanted to torch the place, apparently. It was Baize who told me that. He was the one who talked her down.<p>

"Good to see you, Flax," says Heavensbee as soon as he catches sight of me.

Once again I long for the return of 'Commander Paylor', but I don't comment. Instead I ask the one question I'm desperate to know the answer to.

"What's this meeting for? What's Coin doing?"

"As far as we're aware at this stage, there are seven Hunger Games Victors who survived the war," explains Heavensbee. "Coin currently has all of them up at the President's mansion."

"Why?"

"We don't know that," says Satin de Montfort from her position at the head of the cracked and broken glass table. "We only know that they're there."

"What you did is a disgrace," interjects Dalton, surprising me with the venom in his voice. I've never heard it directed at one of 'us' before. "How could you use your own daughter that way?"

Now I'm really confused, and when Satin sees that in my expression, she smiles gently.

"Our friend Dalton is disgusted with me because the only reason we know about Coin and the Victors at all is because I sent my Vic up to the mansion to…spy, for want of a better word."

"Imagine what would have happened if she'd got caught," says Dalton in response. "I lived in Thirteen for a long time and I know how ready they are to blur the line between adult and child when they think their security's at risk."

"She's hardly in any danger," replies Satin. "She's still so young and she looks younger. If anyone finds her then she knows to play lost. My father made Cashmere his youngest spy when she was even younger than my girl. An old District One trick and I won't apologise for it when I'm the only person who has a clue what's really going on in this place."

"So what do we do now?" I ask, cutting across both of them and looking at Heavensbee. "What do you know about the Victors?"

"We know that most of them are dead," snaps Satin before the Capitolian man can answer. "And that if I had my way then at least one more of them would go the same way. Possibly two if I could get the people of Panem to forget how much they love their precious Mockingjay."

"We need her, Satin," says Phoebe quietly. "And she only did what she had to."

"She killed my brother," snarls the woman from District One. "I'll never forget that. And Johanna Mason killed my sister. I could kill her because surely she's no use to anyone."

"I think we've had more than enough killing over the past few months, don't you?" I say, trying to mediate. "First we need to find out what Coin's up to."

"Nobody knows anything," says Vesper as she walks towards the table with Narissa close behind her. "We've contacted every last spy we have, and believe me when I say that's half the Capitol, but nobody knows."

"The Thirteens are all brainwashed," adds Narissa. "They're like this impenetrable wall of silence and loyalty. They can't be bought, bribed or threatened like normal people either."

"Not everyone's for sale," I tell her with a smirk. "Not everyone's so shallow."

"It's not always about being shallow," she replies. "How would you feel if I talked to you about just how precarious life can be and then just happened to mention your soldier boy you're so in love with?"

The look in her eyes when she says that shows me exactly how she became the person she is and exactly how she gained the reputation she had back when the Capitol was still the place it used to be.

"Is that a threat?"

"No, I'm merely making a point. Everything that would work on anyone else doesn't touch most of the Thirteens."

"Then we wait and see what happens because we've got no other choice. What about the Victors? There must be some of them who have no love for Coin."

"Most of ours, those who were properly on our side, died in the war," says Heavensbee. "I don't want to push Katniss, Peeta will generally follow her, and Haymitch is with them as well. Then Annie Cresta's too much of a risk to take, Johanna-"

"I'd die before I spent a second breathing the same air as her," interrupts Satin fiercely. "Or preferably she'd die first."

Heavensbee shakes his head slightly but doesn't comment and continues like she hadn't spoken.

"I trust Beetee and I think we all feel the same, but he's hardly in a rush to be involved in more subversion and subterfuge unless he has to be. And that just leaves Enobaria."

"She's got no love for Snow or Coin," says Vesper.

"But she's got no love for anyone," Narissa replies. "How could we trust her when the only side she takes is her own?"

"We don't have to trust her, she just has to give us information."

"How would we know she's telling the truth if we don't trust her?" I ask, sitting forwards in my chair and looking around at everyone.

"We'd find out soon enough," answers Dalton, speaking just as the door creaks open again and a small figure pushes into the room.

"They've left the meeting room, Mother," says Victory, her serious expression a complete contradiction to her appearance. "People are looking for you."

"Me?" replies Satin, straightening the girl's dress as she stops beside her chair.

"All of you. The Usurper wants to practice before this afternoon."

When I hear her say that, I spin around in my chair to face them. I briefly see the shock on Satin's face at hearing her daughter repeat a word she must have picked up from her, but she quickly covers it up and leans down so she's at Victory's eye level.

"You know better than to say that word where other people can hear you. I don't know where you got it from."

"You and Daddy," replies the girl with what I'm beginning to think is mock innocence. "You say it all the time."

"Not in public, dearest," Satin replies with a sigh.

"But these are your friends."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to trust even your friends? And especially not my friends."

"Give the girl a break, Satin," says Vesper, smiling conspiratorially at Victory. "Right now she's our best spy."

"What do you know of children, Rosenby?"

"That's enough," growls Narissa, suddenly so fierce that even Satin misses a breath and looks apologetic.

When I think about it, I remember the story Drusilla told me about Vesper and I understand Narissa's reaction. Drusilla told me that the Capitolian had two much younger sisters who were little older than Victory is now when she was already a young woman, and that Snow had arranged their deaths when her mother refused to do as she was told. Vesper's intelligence made her useful, and that was part of the reason why she wasn't targeted as well, but the city's gossips all say she never quite got over the deaths of her sisters.

"It's fine, 'Rissa. Leave it. Let's just go back to the City Circle and see what's going on."

After a few more unconvincing suggestions about what Coin might be doing, we all do what Vesper suggested and leave for the City Circle at carefully timed intervals. I'd been going to wait until last, but when I see the way Vesper looks at Narissa, I leave before they do. Satin clearly touched a nerve and suddenly staying here feels like I'm intruding.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, I'm hovering in the room that leads to the balcony with the rest of the temporary government. I thought I'd seen and heard everything, but when Drusilla strides determinedly towards me, shouting that Plutarch told her to see to me as well as Satin, I immediately realise I haven't. A prep team? Me? Have a prep team? I've never heard anything so ridiculous. I'm not even going to be on the balcony. I'm just going to be another face in the crowd, even if I am going to be at the front, so close that I can see the light in Snow's eyes go out. Or that's how Zib puts it anyway. I seem to have picked the expression up.<p>

"I'll be back in a minute," I call, trying to frantically find an escape route without making it too obvious.

"It'd better be only a minute," replies Drusilla. "Have you looked at those battle scars in the mirror recently, Flax?"

I say nothing and keep going, but if I'd answered her question then I'd have said yes. I have looked at my cuts and scars and they're less swollen but haven't faded much in the past couple of weeks since the fighting ended. I've also decided that I don't care. Anyone who looks at me knows how I got the marks that will probably change my face and body forever and I'm glad. I got them fighting for something I believe in and I'll never have them removed. As Cam told me a few hours ago, they make me what I am and there's nothing wrong with that.

I turn sharply into the next stairwell, running up to the next floor and ignoring several open doors before finally stopping at one that's only slightly ajar. Hopefully if anyone comes looking for me then they'll try the first doors and give up when they have no luck.

However I soon realise I'm not alone in the relatively small room that seems to be some kind of study. At the window, gazing out over the City Circle, is a figure dressed in the grey jumpsuit of District Thirteen. A woman, slightly built and with dark hair that falls to a couple of inches below her waist. I don't recognise her. She doesn't have the District Thirteen look. She definitely doesn't have the District Thirteen uptight posture. Then she turns around and I know why.

"Get out," she growls, spinning around and flashing the gold teeth that haunted the nightmares of District Eight children for years.

I stand my ground and stare back at her. Enobaria. Victor of the Sixtieth Hunger Games and alleged traitor to the rebel cause. The Thirteens think she's guilty anyway. The only reason they haven't tried to kill her is the so-called Mockingjay Agreement, where Katniss did a deal with Coin that involved the president agreeing to spare all of the surviving Victors, no matter what the circumstances.

"I think you'll find you don't have the authority to make me do that," I reply coolly, still never taking my eyes off her because my basic survival instinct is screaming at me to not show fear.

"It's not about authority. I could kill you right now."

"You're not in the arena," I say. "And there are new rules now, you might want to think about that. You're lucky to be alive."

"Am I? That's a matter of opinion."

"You want to die?"

"Perhaps," she retorts immediately. "But I wouldn't give Johanna Mason the satisfaction. I'll stay alive just to piss her off."

"I can think of better reasons to stay alive."

"That's because you _have _better reasons."

She steps towards me and I instinctively step back. When I see the predatory gleam in her eyes and the smirk on her lips, I wish I hadn't.

"I don't want trouble."

"But you want to know what went on this morning so you can tell all your little rebel friends," she replies, telling me rather than asking a question.

"The rebellion's over," I say cagily.

"Whatever," she replies disbelievingly.

"Would you tell me if I asked you?"

"I'd think about it," she tells me, her expression such a mixture of emotions that I couldn't begin to pick one out.

"And will we all be dead by the time you've decided?"

"I don't owe you anything," she spits. "I don't owe anyone anything."

I don't know what to say to that so I stay silent, staring back at her because I don't dare look away. We stand like that for several minutes, and the only sound I can hear is that of my heart pounding in my chest. When she starts forwards, I'm ready for her and I intend to stand my ground.

"Happy Hunger Games, Paylor," she says abruptly, pushing past me and heading down the corridor far too fast for me to chase her.

"What do you mean? Enobaria! What do you mean?"

"You'll soon find out," she calls back, and then she's gone.

I stand still, torn between feeling like I should follow her to try and get more information and feeling like I'm far too scared to even consider it. But then my decision is made for me when Drusilla appears on the staircase at the other end of the corridor.

"I've been waiting for this for nearly fifty years, Paylor," she shouts. "I'm not missing it because you refuse to have your hair cut."

I look up at her, feeling as much like an errant child as I usually do in her presence, but I do as I'm told. She saved my life and she's right. She doesn't want to miss this and neither do I.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Sorry it's a week late...**_

Chapter Twenty

As soon as Drusilla finally lets me go about an hour later, I find myself being ushered down the stairs towards the City Circle. One of Heavensbee's people follows me the whole way, telling me exactly what I can and can't do and where I can and can't go.

His high-pitched voice goes right through me, and it doesn't take long before I've had enough. In the end I turn around and tell him that the only thing stopping me from telling him exactly where _he _can go is the fact that we're probably live on television right now. I don't want to let what's left of my district down by looking uncivilised amidst all this Capitolian luxury.

The man looks shocked but he says nothing and calmly holds the side door open for me. After that, I don't think he could have made himself heard even if he'd wanted to. The noise from the crowd is deafening.

When I look out at them, it seems as if the whole population of Panem has come out to see Snow fall, and I have to ignore the sudden urge I have to run back inside. It's an effort but I force myself to walk forwards, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ears virtually every stride because it's never been the same since Drusilla cut it. It frames my face neatly now, just like she wanted. She didn't really give me a say in what _I _wanted, but I suppose after seeing the horror on her face once I'd told her that I used to hack bits of it off with my pocket knife between battles, I wouldn't have had it in me to argue anyway.

"Are we worthy of spending time in your esteemed presence now?" calls Baize when he sees me. "You look like a proper lady."

"And what did I look like before?" I retort with a grin I can't quite hide despite the occasion. "Think very carefully before you answer."

"You were our Flaxie," he replies, all joking and teasing abruptly gone as all my old comrades crowd in to listen. "Now you're Commander Flax Paylor, member of the government of the whole country."

"I'm still your Flaxie," I say, looking around at each of them before gesturing over towards the terrace that's all set out and waiting for Snow to arrive so the show can begin. "And when this is all over, I'll come back to Eight with you. The food might be good in the Capitol but the politics are driving me crazy."

They all cheer and take turns to pat me on the back or, in the case of Baize and Darry and the older generation who remember the child I was, ruffle my hair in a way I'm sure would give Drusilla a heart attack. But then they all fall silent. Immediately. All of them together in a way that can't be for no reason.

I slowly turn around, half expecting Heavensbee or Hodge or even Coin herself. When I see Narissa, I don't know whether I'm relieved, disappointed or just plain nervous. She wouldn't be mixing with the unwashed masses for no reason, especially not when she has a nice seat reserved for her at the back of the terrace.

"We wondered where you'd got to, Flax," she says, seemingly innocently but with a glint in her eyes that instantly has me even more worried. "We've saved a seat for you on the terrace."

"I'm fine here," I reply. "I fought with these people to bring Snow down. I want to be with them when he finally gets what's been coming to him for years."

"All of the temporary government are over there," she answers, her expression determined. Experience tells me I've already lost, but I let her carry on anyway. "We all felt it was important to present a…united front."

"Go on," says Zib, giving me a way out with a smile that tells me she knows what I'm thinking. "We're all proud of you. You should be up there."

I dejectedly shrug my shoulders but then hurry forwards so I'm by Narissa's side rather than following behind her. They all cheer again, and by the time I reach the terrace, the noise has grown far too loud to be coming just from my District Eight rebels. I look back and see more of the people in the square have joined in. Many, many more. My first thought is that Coin's started early, but when I turn to the balcony, there's no sign of her. I don't know what to do.

"It's all for you," whispers Narissa in my ear. "They know what you did in the war. They all know you and they all love you."

"Don't be stupid. I'm just… I'm just me."

"Isn't that enough?" she replies, but she's gone before I can answer, heading back towards Vesper.

I stare after her, thinking it's probably just as well she's gone because I wouldn't have a clue what to say to that. Then I take one more look at the gawping crowd and rapidly follow her. No matter what happens, I never get used to the attention.

* * *

><p>Seconds later, everyone looks up and cheers as Coin steps forwards to the front of the balcony. I gaze up at her, at her perfectly pressed uniform, her perfectly straight hair, her expressionless face. Is this really the right person to lead Panem? Is she going to give people the freedom they deserve? From the look in her eyes, I very much doubt it.<p>

"They cheered for the man she's executing as well," hisses Vesper dryly.

I carefully watch the people surrounding me to see who smiles, trying to find out who's in on the half-hatched plot to overthrow District Thirteen's president before her rule really starts. These Capitolians are so used to masking their true emotions that it isn't easy.

Heavensbee says something in reply, but I don't hear a word, because at that moment, Katniss walks out onto the terrace, bow and arrow in hand. The roar of the onlookers is deafening, many, many times louder than it was for Coin, a combination of the crowd's love for their Mockingjay and the knowledge she's the one who's going to end Snow.

When she takes her position on the terrace in an almost robotic way, there's a dramatic drum roll that's all Heavensbee rather than Coin, and they bring Snow out soon after. Despite my earlier desire to stay where I was, I'm glad I'm standing where I am now. I can see him up close. I can see the way his stride falters slightly and how he has to constantly stifle his urge to cough with every breath he takes. I can see how low he is now and I've never been happier. Everyone else in the City Circle shouts and cheers, and when I look down the line I'm in the middle of, I'm not the only one joining in with them.

However when Katniss takes a pace forwards and raises her bow, silence falls instantly. They've tied Snow to a post barely ten feet away from her. Even if she wasn't the marksman she is, she wouldn't miss.

But she does miss. Not accidentally but on purpose.

Her position shifts again once we all thought she'd lined up her shot. Her arm drifts up, Dalton gasps beside me and Narissa suddenly grasps my hand with a death grip I'm sure will totally cut of my circulation forever.

To me, the arrow seems to almost move in slow motion, but it's less than a second later that Coin collapses over the edge of the balcony. When she hits the ground, every single man, woman and child in the City Circle sees the arrow sticking out of her chest because her image fills every one of the giant television screens.

"Guards!" screams Senior Commander Hodge, one of the first to recover after several seconds of stunned silence.

Everyone close springs to life then, and my immediate reaction is to pull back from Narissa and Dalton so I can return to Cam and Zib and the others. I literally have to jump off the raised platform of the terrace, and when Cam half catches me so I stay on my feet, I turn around in his arms to see the whole place covered with a swarm of grey-uniformed District Thirteen soldiers. I can hear Heavensbee's distinct voice, calling for Katniss not to be harmed and I shake my head. Has everyone forgotten why we were all out here in the first place?

"Well we weren't expecting that one," whispers Cam in my ear.

"But we were expecting something else which still needs to happen," I whisper back. Then I raise my voice so they can all hear me. "Zib! Lucan! Adaira! With me!"

Just like always, they're by my side almost instantly, and I don't have to look back to know they're following. However when we reach the edge of the terrace, I glance back and it's Adaira's eye I catch. It takes a split second for me to realise she knows exactly what I'm thinking and I'm equally as certain she isn't the only one.

"If you want a job doing properly then you get District Eight to do it!" she shouts.

"I won't believe the bastard's dead until I see his body with my own eyes anyway!" adds Zib, pushing a nameless, faceless grey uniform out of the way so she can keep going forwards.

* * *

><p>However when we reach the stage, intending to finish what Katniss Everdeen never really started, we find we're not needed. My fear had been that Snow would escape in the chaos, but I shouldn't have worried because he's still right there, tied to his post and slumped on the floor. He's dead. Nobody dares touch him to check, but I've seen enough dead people to see it without needing to.<p>

I stumble back into Cam and Zib, suddenly more exhausted than I've ever been in my life. It's over. Coriolanus Snow is dead.

"Now what?" asks Lucan, pushing a path back through the swarm of people so we can follow him off the terrace. He has to shout at the top of his voice to make himself heard.

I look first at him, then at Cali, Zib and more of the others than I can count. Then I can't ignore the madness around me any more than I can ignore Coin's body on the ground beneath the balcony or Heavensbee struggling to protect his Mockingjay or Satin de Montfort calling for order. Everything's just a mass of colour and movement and noise, all spinning around faster and faster by the second.

My eyes finally focus enough to find Cam's and he nods in understanding, reaching his hand out to me and grasping my wrist instead when I reach back towards him.

"Just this once, Cam," I say when he pulls me close. "Just this once, let me run away."

He nods again and we push through the crowd, not stopping until we reach the house everyone calls Zib's even though I know a lot of the others have been staying there as well. I thought we were alone, but when I turn around to close the front door, I find most of the original District Eight rebels staring back at me. So much for running away. But I suppose it wasn't them I was running away from so it doesn't really make a difference.

When I reach the kitchen I flop down onto one of the chairs and lean forwards to put my head on the table with my eyes tightly closed. I've seen a lot of sights over the past few months, but still can't quite believe what just happened.

"So what do you think the chances of us getting out of here and back to Eight are?"

Poplin. I'm surprised to hear her voice and I'm especially surprised to hear her say that. I'd thought she was getting comfortable here, starting to feel useful again as she spends her days issuing orders to District Thirteen soldiers who obey her without question.

"Better than average," replies Adaira, her voice coming closer as she crosses the room to stand at the side of my chair. "It's staying there that'd be the problem."

"Why?" asks Cali.

I hear another chair scrape along the floor and guess she's pulling it out from under the table so she can sit down. I still don't raise my head. I'm still not quite ready to face them.

"You're a smart woman, Calico," answers Adaira. "So don't pretend you don't understand. Whatever's going to kick off here isn't going to go away. Whoever becomes the next president isn't just going to decide they don't need District Eight so it's OK for us to go off and do our own thing. And they're all quite attached to our girl here," she adds, resting a firm hand on my back between my shoulder blades. "Panem knows why but they think she's a good leader. That means no peace for her or any of us who follow her."

"You don't follow me, Adaira," I reply tiredly, finally accepting that I have no choice but to sit up. "The war's over."

She shakes her head with what I suppose I'd call fond tolerance and then gestures around the room.

"We're here with you. Whether you like it or not. Whether you accept it or not. So what do you want to do?"

"Go home," I reply honestly, smiling when Cam sits down beside me. I look around the room at each of them in turn. "But what Adaira said is true. It's not over yet so we can't just go."

They all start to talk at once then, and I can hear some people saying we should go anyway and some saying we should wait to see who takes power and try to get some answers from them before demanding to be left alone to govern ourselves. I like that last idea, but it's never going to happen. Then the knock at the front door silences every one of them instantly.

"That was quick," I say dryly. "Satin's good. I thought it would take her longer than that."

"Shall I get it?" asks Lucan, but it's too late.

Adie bounds into the kitchen and is followed closely by an unassuming looking man I haven't seen before.

"Adelaide!" exclaims Zib before the man can speak. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she replies, rolling her eyes at her sister. "I'm here now because I needed the Capitol map."

"Do I want to know why?"

"Velia wants it."

"Then I really don't want to know why."

"Excuse me?" interrupts the messenger. "I'm sorry but I've been asked to deliver a message to you, Commander Paylor-"

"Of course you have," I reply tiredly, cutting him off before he can finish. "Where's the meeting?"

"There's to be an emergency meeting of the temporary government at the president's mansion," he says, sounding surprised that I guessed his purpose. "As soon as everyone gets there."

"And if I don't want to go?"

He stares back at me, stunned. He didn't expect that answer and he hasn't a clue how to respond.

"Go on, Flaxie," whispers Cam. "Your friend Satin will probably arrest you if you don't go."

"I'd like to see her try," I reply, trying to smile. "But you're right. I'll go and get us some answers and then I'll come back."

"Go and sort them out," says Adaira encouragingly. "Show them how it should be done."

"I'll do my best," I reply, and I follow the messenger out of the kitchen to a chorus of support from all of them.

"Do you want me to come with you?" asks Zib as I reach the front door. "You're so important now that you should probably have a bodyguard or something."

"And that's going to be you, is it?" I reply, teasingly looking down at her from my greater height and patting the stock of the gun I now feel naked without. "I think I can look after myself."

"Friends watch each other's backs," she says. "It's what they do. Let me come with you."

"Not this time, Zib. I have to do this on my own. But I won't shut you out, I promise."

"Be careful, Flax," she tells me quietly. "Remember the first rule."

"Always," I reply, grasping the smallest finger on her right hand and tugging it sharply.

I think the last time I did that was when we were seven years old. But I remember both the painfully familiar gesture and the so-called first rule like we came up with them only yesterday. And the first rule is to trust nobody who isn't one of us.

* * *

><p>When I first left the house, what the others said made me feel more positive than I did before and more confident that I can deal with whatever's going on. However as I follow the messenger back towards the City Circle, I vaguely wonder if this is how Snow felt. My feet feel heavier with every step and I suddenly know I shouldn't have left when Katniss shot Coin. I should have guessed how hard it would be to make myself return, but I didn't. And now look at me.<p>

"This way, Commander Paylor," says the messenger. "Mr Heavensbee called the meeting in the president's office. The old president, I mean."

"Which old president?" I reply dryly, and he looks uncertainly back at me before gesturing towards Snow's mansion.

I walk up the steps into a massive pale marble entranceway, but before I can begin to climb the equally massive staircase, the messenger touches my arm and nods towards a door behind it. It's a dark wooden door that looks almost like a servant's entrance, but when I push through it, I put my foot down on a thick blood red carpet and stare up at the wood-panelled walls in awe.

The further I get down the corridor, the more uneasy I feel. There's something about this place I can't quite put my finger on that frightens me. There's something wrong about it that makes my skin crawl and makes me want to cross my arms tightly across my chest to keep the chill out. Despite my reluctance to attend the meeting, I sigh with relief when one of the doors opens and Dalton peers out to wave at me.

At any other time, I think the sight that greets me when I reach him would be funny. The Thirteens sit on one side of the dark, imposing office, and the rebel Capitolians and other district representatives sit on the other, like there's an invisible line dividing them.

Narissa sits on Snow's desk, her feet resting on what I'm guessing was his chair in a gesture of disrespect only she seems to dare give when our former dictator's presence is still almost tangible in this place. Vesper looks on with an expression of fond disapproval that reminds me of Adaira's, and she smiles faintly when she sees me.

"Right. I think you're the last, Flax. Shut the door, Fulvia," he adds to his assistant. "Wait in the corridor and don't let anyone in here unless I say so."

The Capitolian woman rushes to obey and the door clicks shut behind her with a formidable finality when she leaves. Then virtually everyone in the room starts talking at once.

"Where's Katniss now?"

"Will she be punished for what she did?"

"Who will be our president now?"

Those are just some of the questions I pick out as I find an empty chair and sit down. Falco Hazelwell sits beside me, and he's watching proceedings with troubled disinterest. Snow's dead now. I suppose it will take him a while to work out what he has left to live for.

"Katniss is currently in a secure unit at the hospital," says Heavensbee, raising his voice to be heard over everyone else. "At the present time she's in no way capable of standing trial in relation to Alma Coin's death so I propose she remains there for now."

"Death, not murder," whispers Falco, and though he was talking to Satin, we're that close that his words drift back to me.

I see instantly what he's getting at. Heavensbee's putting his usual spin on events as he tries to engineer them to be as he wishes. He doesn't want Katniss to be held accountable and he's doing everything in his considerable power to see that she isn't.

"She killed Panem's president," says one of Coin's advisors. "There have to be consequences or there will be no order left."

"Temporary president," I hear myself replying. "Alma Coin was never officially appointed or elected into any position of office outside Thirteen."

I wait for a response but the woman doesn't seem to have an answer. She exchanges pointed looks with a few of her colleagues but everyone in the room knows their position has been considerably weakened by Coin's demise. She was their power and she was their authority. Without her, they're no more or less than any other district.

"That is very true, Commander Paylor," says Heavensbee before turning to Narissa.

"Our suggestion is that we appoint another temporary president in an emergency election here today-"

"But not everyone is represented here today," I say, thinking of the leaders of some of the other districts who are still out there dealing with the direct aftermath of the war. "I thought we believed in democracy and equality. I thought that was the point of the uprising in the first place."

"We need someone to lead us in the short term until a more democratic election can be organised," continues Narissa, her eyes resting on Heavensbee rather than me.

Seeing that shocks me, because she can't possibly be imagining him as president. After being Head Gamemaker? There's no way the districts would stand it. But who else? Not Narissa herself. She, Falco, Phoebe and the others in her group were far too well-known and influential in Snow's Panem to ever be tolerated by the newly-liberated people of the districts either. And I know the citizens of the former District Eight aren't the only ones who neither trust nor support District Thirteen. So who?

"Vesper?" says Heavensbee eventually when all the whispering has died down a bit. "You are used to the way our country runs and aren't…"

"Famous enough to automatically be hated?" she finishes for him when he unusually seems unable to find the words.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly have phrased it like that, but essentially, yes," he answers.

"Absolutely not," snaps Senior Commander Hodge from the District Thirteen side of the room. "She's Capitolian. She was never cleared of being a spy for the former-president. Besides, a woman like her can't lead the country at a time like this. You heard what Beetee said."

If looks could kill then Hodge would have dropped down dead instantly as Vesper's usually relatively calm and collected expression turns to pure fire and rage. It takes me several seconds to catch up, but she's instantly so incensed that she can't seem to speak, and it's Narissa who turns to the commander from District Thirteen.

"Oh dear, do we offend you?" she asks with mock-sweetness as she gets up off Snow's desk to stand beside Vesper. "How will I ever sleep at night again? How will I live with the knowledge that I offend a narrow-minded, repulsive bigot like you?"

"It's not a case of being offended, it's a case of practicality," replies Hodge, looking very much like he wants to demand to know why Narissa thinks she can speak to him like that but doesn't quite dare. "Our population is barely sustainable."

"So what's your solution?" growls Vesper, abruptly finding her voice. "Forced marriages and rape?" Then she looks around the room, her eyes finding those of everyone here. "Is this what you want for Panem? If it is then leave District Thirteen in charge and make sure you don't outlaw suicide until I'm dead and buried."

"Nobody is suggesting that, I'm sure," says Heavensbee, quickly raising his hand and attempting to mediate. "And what we're proposing here today is merely temporary while we find a more permanent solution."

I say nothing and watch them all. Not for the first time or even the millionth, I ask myself how I got here. Hearing what Hodge said convinces me once and for all that Thirteen cannot be allowed to rule or govern, but I'm not so sure Vesper's the solution either. She's intelligent and brave, I'd never deny that, but she's Capitolian. She's proper Capitolian and she hasn't the first idea about life in the districts and what people have been through. They won't respect her and they certainly won't take orders from her.

However as the discussion continues, I notice two things. I notice that the people from Thirteen seem to have forgotten Coin a lot more quickly than she perhaps would have hoped, and also that Heavensbee, the mastermind behind so much of this, doesn't seem exactly disappointed that people aren't jumping up and down to support Vesper. Come to think about it, she doesn't seem all that emotional either, at least not about the possibility of being responsible for the whole country. She looks very much like she'd quite willingly hold a gun to Hodge's head and pull the trigger, but that isn't the same.

"There is another solution, of course," says Heavensbee, his voice deceptively mild despite how it somehow makes everyone fall silent instantly.

I look around the room and see a lot of his people have sat forwards in their chairs like they're waiting for something to happen. Satin catches my eye and I can't even begin to read the emotion I see on her face. Falco smiles softly and swiftly looks away.

"I nominate Flax Paylor," continues the former Head Gamemaker. "She is neither Capitol nor District Thirteen, a brave and well-respected commander during the war who is known to all."

Silence. Deadly silence. Though I wait for someone to dismiss the idea as being as ridiculous as it clearly is, nobody speaks.

"All those in favour, raise your hands," says Narissa from her new position perched on the arm of Vesper's chair.

I stare in dumbstruck silence as all but the most patriotic Thirteens raise their hands. I open my mouth to find words, to tell them that this isn't what I want, but no sound comes out.

"So, _President Paylor_," says Heavensbee with a slight smile. "Why don't you lead the elections of people to fill the supporting roles. May I put myself forward for secretary of communications?"

"Wait," I splutter, stunned by the way he says 'President Paylor' so casually, almost like Baize used to when he was tormenting me during the war. "I never agreed to this. It isn't what I want."

I speak but my protests are drowned out as everyone talks at once again. Then suddenly my fear and dread is replaced by anger. Virtually all of them raised their hands to elect me as temporary president, and yet they're already not listening.

"Silence!" I yell, and the tone I hear in my voice reminds me of those horrific hours that followed the destruction of the warehouse hospital back at the beginning of the uprising.

All of them, even Heavensbee, Narissa and Hodge, turn to gaze at me. It's abruptly so quiet I could hear a pin drop.

"I didn't ask for this and I don't want it," I tell them. "But looking at you now, Panem only knows you need someone to be the voice of reason. I need time to think," I continue, looking straight at Heavensbee. "You'll have my answer at sunset."

Then my composure cracks and I leave the room before they see me break. Not the most dignified response, perhaps, but the one that feels the most appropriate, and when I get out of the house and into the City Circle I run and run as if I could get all the way back home to Eight before anyone caught me.

* * *

><p>I keep going until the crowds dwindle first into small groups and then into single people making their anxious way from one place to another, fearfully gazing around as if the war's still on and they could be shot down at any second. I don't really know where I am, and although it seems vaguely familiar, I can't quite remember why. There's a gate up ahead, and instead of avoiding it, I push it open and slip inside. The garden on the other side of it looks quiet, and if I sit down then I can't be seen from the street. Right now that's more than enough of an incentive for me.<p>

As I sit there totally still, my mind races quicker than it ever has before. Me? President? It's impossible. It's like President Snow coming to District Eight to sweep the factory floors. It's something so crazy I can barely get my head around it. How can I run the country, even temporarily? What do I know about government? Precisely nothing, that's what. I can lead people into battle. I learnt to do that because I had no choice, but leading when we're at peace? That's different. Why can't Heavensbee and the rest of them see that?

"What are you doing in my new garden?"

I take a deep breath when I hear the voice and then I look up. There's a child staring back at me, a young girl with tightly curled brown hair and massive chocolate eyes that are just like her mother's. Victory. I must be in the grounds of the de Montfort-Lancaster's house in the city. The street seemed familiar because I _have _been here before.

"Hello, little spy," I say, smiling a little when the girl grins proudly at the nickname. "I'm running away. That's why I'm in your new garden."

"Why are you running away?" she asks, sitting down solidly on the step beside me. "Mother tells me people should face things and not run, even when they're scared."

"And your mother's probably right," I say, trying to be calm, but then suddenly I can't do it anymore. Everything comes out in a rush I don't understand myself so I certainly can't expect Victory to. "But I don't want to be the president. I can't actually believe anyone's seriously considering it. I'm from District Eight. I work in a textiles factory and I sleep on a sofa because I can't afford a bed. The whole idea's ludicrous."

When I finally run out of breath and can't speak, the little girl is unsurprisingly staring unblinkingly up at me with an expression that suggests she understood even less than every other word of what I just said.

"What does 'ludicrous' mean?" she asks eventually, and I laugh, not at her question but because I'm finally seeing a sign that Satin's daughter is actually a child several years younger than Adie and Taffy.

"It means stupid, Vic," I tell her.

"What does?" asks a voice from the gateway.

"Ludicrous," I reply sharply, narrowing my eyes at Satin. "And you know precisely what I'm talking about. Don't you dare lie to me and tell me you don't."

"What happened in that meeting isn't ludicrous, Flax. It's logical," she says unrepentantly. "There are very few people capable of leading the country who are still in a fit state to be able to do it."

"But that's just it. I'm not capable. I don't understand how anyone could be stupid enough to think otherwise."

"Because people listen to you. You're clever and you inspire loyalty in those close to you, more than any other commander who fought in the war. Every one of your squad would have taken a bullet for you, even those who'd known you for five minutes."

"It's not the same thing. It's not the same thing at all."

"You should be honoured," she says, but I can tell she senses that angle isn't going to work before she even finishes her sentence. However because she's Satin, she perseveres anyway. "You have all these dreams for a better Panem and now you're in a position to make them real."

"If you think it's such an honour then you should do it," I snap back.

"I can't," she replies. "Not yet. People won't trust me, not when I'm the mayoress of the Capitol-district who lost her siblings in the Quarter Quell. I very publicly helped the rebellion but people will think I did it out of revenge. And maybe I did. But they know you fought for freedom before the war had properly started and they respect you because of it. Plutarch understands that."

"What do you mean?" I ask immediately, getting a sinking feeling as I realise I already know the answer to my own question.

"I-"

"This was all planned, wasn't it? Snow said you people would try to manipulate me and I didn't listen, but he was telling me the truth, wasn't he? It all makes sense now. All the meetings, the way I always had to be at the front when we were out together in public, the way he and Narissa and the others seemed to sit around me…"

"You could be good for Panem, Flax," she replies, not stupid enough to deny it. "And it doesn't have to be forever."

"You mean I only have to play at being President Paylor for the amount of time it takes our beloved former Head Gamemaker to find a new puppet?"

Satin moves closer, displacing Victory only to pick the girl up and hold her on her lap. She looks across at me, and to my surprise, she smiles. It's not a wholly friendly smile but instead is almost wicked.

"You're missing a vital detail, you know? One that makes everything you just said completely irrelevant."

"What do you mean?"

"Once you're sworn in, no matter how temporary the position is, you are the president. You are the one who holds the power according to the current constitution of Panem. Until _you _change it to say otherwise. So what kind of leader are you going to be, President Paylor? One like Snow? Or one who sits there and lets others manipulate her? Or are you going to do what you always dreamed of and make a Panem we can all be proud of? Because if you choose the latter then you'll have my support."

"But even if I try, what makes you so sure people will listen? If I were them then I'd probably look at me and laugh."

"Come with me," she says, getting up and putting Vic back on her feet. "Please."

I think about it for a minute and then I push myself up. She smiles knowingly and links her arm through mine as she walks back up the path towards the gate.

* * *

><p>We keep walking until the crowds get a bit heavier in a comfortable silence neither of us seems willing to break. I look around and immediately realise we're not in the best part of the city. Though it's a hundred times better kept than its equivalent in the old District Eight, I can see walls that are crumbling and paint peeling off buildings. There's even still some graffiti in places despite Coin's efforts to clean up before what was meant to be Snow's execution. A lot of the people lurking around are still in full military uniform or the clothes they wore during the war.<p>

"We're not far from the last loyalist-held block in the city," whispers Satin, looking very much like she's starting to regret her decision to come here as she refers to those few Capitolian soldiers still loyal to the old regime who are yet to fully surrender. "This is-"

"Where our forces trying to subdue them are based. I know that, Satin," I tell her amusedly, feeling a lot more at home amongst the soldiers than she does as they begin to step out from behind both new and old barricades. "So," I then call in a much louder voice without really having to think about it. "What's the plan here?"

"Commander Paylor?" asks the nearest soldier as he skids to a surprised halt at the sight of us.

"Yes, Soldier," I reply. "Your powers of observation are not letting you down."

When he realises a lot of his comrades are looking in our direction, he beckons them over and suddenly Satin and I are surrounded by a group of well over a hundred people. Many of them seem to just want to look at me or tell me where they were when we won the war.

"Sorry," I mouth to Satin, who still seems slightly shaky in an environment that's so alien to her.

"I'm not," she replies with a grin that she clearly passed on to her daughter. "They're making my point for me. I dare you to stand there and tell me you mean nothing to them now."

"We're launching one final attack on the block soon, Commander Paylor," says a very familiar voice from behind me. "They're guarding it for a reason. Heavensbee thinks Prisca and the last of Snow's government are there trying to find a way out of the city."

"Soldier Johnson?" I say, turning around to face the man I went into battle with only a few short weeks ago. "I thought you'd gone back to Eleven."

"There's nothing left for me there," he replies, shifting his gun a bit higher on his shoulder. "I figured I might as well stay and do something useful."

"Have you got everything you need? I'd been trying to see that you had."

"I know that," he says. "We all do. Coin and her lackeys stopped a few of the weapons and ammunition trucks you sent over but we got them back. It's how we've got so far so quickly with subduing the resistance."

"Coin was stopping them?"

"Us out here weren't trusted," calls a man with a distinctly District Two look. "Not brainwashed enough."

"If you can clear that block then I'll trust you," I reply, and to my surprise, the group cheers back at me.

"This couldn't have gone any better if I'd planned it," whispers Satin in my ear. She smiles when I glare at her.

"You got the weapons trucks back?" I ask suspiciously. "How? Or don't I want to know?"

"With a little help from our friends," he replies. "A rather remarkable young lady from Two by the name of Velia, actually. Velia's got a talent for breaking into military compounds and stealing trucks bound for Thirteen. I think you've met."

"She and Astraea got Zib's sister and a lot of other District Eight refugees out of Thirteen."

"Yes. She's got no love for Thirteen after what happened at the Mountain Fortress."

"She's one of us," says Satin. "Like her mother was. Loyal to the idea of making a better Panem. Don't walk away from this chance we have, Flax. Please."

"Just suppose that I agree, _temporarily_, of course," I say, and she nods instantly. "I'm appointing you my press secretary. Instantly. Where do you get some of the things you say, de Montfort? 'Loyal to the idea of making a better Panem'? Honestly."

She laughs, but her expression is slightly wistful.

"As my sister would have said, we should use what weapons we have. My best weapon just happens to be words."

"You're a very good fighter," I reply with a smile. "I have to talk to Cam and the others first, you know that, don't you? I owe it to them. I said I wanted to go back to Eight with them and if I'm honest then that's still what I want now. I have to make them understand. I have to make _him _understand."

"Cam loves you, Flax. Any fool can see that. He won't walk away."

"I hope not. And if he does then you're not going to like this but I'm not superhuman and I've given too much up already. I've seen too much and lost too much. If he makes me choose then I choose him. Every time."

"If he truly loves you then he won't make you choose."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

There are so many thoughts flying around in my mind by the time I get back to Zib's house that I can't walk straight, and I almost stumble through the front door. For the first second everything's quiet and empty. Then the door at the end of the corridor flies open and at least half a dozen people rush out towards me. At first I think it's because they know what happened during the meeting today, but from their questions I quickly realise they don't.

"Where have you been?"

"What's happened? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Flax? We were worried about you."

"I think I'm old enough to be allowed out of the house without permission, Cali," I reply to the last voice, smiling despite everything at her motherly concern.

"Not when you come back looking like you do."

"You always know how to make a girl feel better, don't you?" I reply sarcastically, pushing past them all into the kitchen and sitting down at the table.

"Talk to me," says Cam, sliding into the chair beside me. "Something happened at the meeting, didn't it? Is it the Thirteens again? Because if it is then we can just go. Go back to Eight and take our guns with us. The Capitol couldn't get us out so they certainly won't be able to."

"It isn't the Thirteens," I whisper eventually, shocked by how quiet and unsteady my voice is. "It's Heavensbee. He's been playing me all along. Him and Narissa and all the rest of them."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want me to kill him, Flax?" asks Zib, looking strangely delighted by the prospect as she sits down on my other side and links her arm through mine. "Because I could. I'll plead insanity. What's good enough for Katniss Everdeen is good enough for me."

"And it's good enough for me, too," adds Adaira, smiling grimly. "If he hurt you then I'll kill him anyway."

"Thanks, Adaira," I reply dryly. "And you, Zib. But I don't think assassination is the answer. I suppose if I accept then I could have him banished…"

"Accept what, Flax?" asks Luce, puzzled and curious.

"Flax?" echoes Cam, but I can tell from his voice that he's already halfway to working it out without me having to tell him.

"They…they all set me up. They planned it all along, right from when they were plotting against Coin."

"Planned what?"

"To make me President Paylor for real. They talked about who would replace Snow for a bit, went around in a few circles, and in the end Narissa mentioned my name like it was a flash of inspiration even though anyone with half a brain could see it was about as rehearsed as a Capitolian fashion show."

"And what did you say?" asks Zib.

Cam sits in silence, and I can feel the hand that holds mine begin to tremble. I turn to look straight at him, hoping he'll see the apology in my eyes, both for what I'm saying and the fact I'm telling him in front of all the others. He stares back at me but his expression doesn't change. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I can't tell what he's thinking just by looking at him.

"I said they'd have my answer by sunset."

That's all it takes to start everyone off talking at once. They fire questions at me and at each other, all shouting louder and louder as they struggle to make themselves heard. Pretty soon it comes to the point where I can't distinguish individual voices above the buzz of noise.

"Shut up!" I yell eventually, and they go quiet instantly. "Please," I add in a much softer voice, and a lot of them smile or laugh in response.

"Have you decided what you're going to say?"

"Not yet, Zib," I tell her honestly. "It isn't entirely what I want but I don't know what the alternative is. There's nobody else who doesn't totally divide the vote, not yet anyway. And Panem needs stability. If it all falls apart now then we fought for nothing. People died for nothing."

"It's not up to you to carry the fate of the entire country, Flax," says Cam quietly. "You don't _have_ to go along with it."

"Don't I? Don't you think I'd hate myself forever if I walked away and the fighting started again? Because it would. The Capitolians would never submit to District Thirteen rule and the Thirteens would never answer to the Capitol. It'd only be a matter of time."

"It looks like you've made your mind up already then," he says, sounding more sad and resigned than angry.

"Can you give us a minute?" I say, glancing up at everyone else in the room.

I could almost laugh at the response I get. I've never seen a room cleared quicker.

"What do you want me to do, Cam?" I ask with a sigh as soon as Zib closes the door behind herself with a level of reluctance that tells me she'd rather have stayed. "Tell me what to do," I continue, my voice steadily rising in volume. "Tell me! Because I don't have all the answers! I never did!"

"I don't know," he replies. "I don't know. I understand what you're thinking, but when it comes down to it, I don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me. Even if I say yes then it'll be on the condition that it isn't forever. I'll give it a year or so until we've got some kind of stability back and then I'll call another election and someone else can take over."

"A year?"

"Too long for you to wait?" I snap, more angry at the situation than anything else but taking it out on him because he's there and because I can. "Go to Eight and find yourself another girl then."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he snaps back, echoing my angry tone before it leaves him as quickly as it arrived and his voice is suddenly barely audible. "I told you I've loved you for over fifteen years and I meant it. But I thought it was all over when we won. I didn't think I'd have to keep sharing you with the whole district, and now it's just getting worse. Now it's the whole country."

"I love you, Cam, and I want to go back to Eight with you, but I have to do what's right first. If I don't then I won't be able to live with myself. It'll drive me mad and in the end none of us will be happy. I don't know much but I know that's true."

"I know," he replies eventually, sighing as deeply as I did before. "But I can't stay here, Flax. I hate the Capitol, even this new Capitol."

"I don't want you to stay here. I know how much you hate it and I need you to go back home. I need you to help create a home I can look forward to returning to."

"Without you? It wouldn't feel right. And people don't listen to me, they listen to you."

"I'll be telling them. But from here for most of the time. You and the others will be there in person. Please, Cam. I can only be strong enough to do this if I know you're all there supporting me."

"If you ask me to stay then I'll stay. For you. Put me in your presidential guard or something."

"No," I reply firmly. "If you're here with me then I won't be able to do my job properly. Being on The Block in Thirteen taught me that. And then I'll be letting the whole of Panem down by being less than I can be. If I'm doing this then I'm going to do it right."

He look long and hard at me, and I can almost hear him thinking. Then he smiles.

"That's all very well, Flaxie, but if you want Zib to leave you then you're going to have to throw her in jail."

"I'll talk to her. She'll go if I ask her to, if I send her home with Adie."

"Adie?" he retorts with a broad smile. "She won't want to leave either. She's having far too much fun terrorising the Capitolians and the Thirteens with her District Two friends."

"I need to talk to Astraea and Velia," I reply with a groan. "It's not that I don't respect what they're doing with distributing the food stashes they find and everything, but they're not exactly big on diplomacy and tact."

"You're taking it, aren't you?"

My eyes snap to his in response to the abrupt change of subject. He stares back at me and doesn't blink so much as once.

"I have to, Cam. I told you. It's the only way."

He smiles and shakes his head. "I know. You wouldn't be you if you walked away. And then I probably wouldn't love you as much as I do."

"I love you, Cam. And I choose you. Remember that. This is just something I have to do first."

He smiles again, stands up slowly and then turns around, holding his hand out to me. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.

We walk to the door together.

* * *

><p>"Flax, it's on the television already!" calls Zib as soon as she hears the kitchen door open. "There's some orange Capitolian saying you're going to be the president!"<p>

I walk into the sitting room and Cam follows closely behind. When I look around I find them all crowded around the massive screen, and sure enough, there's a literally orange man with green hair standing in the middle of the City Circle. I hear him say my name several times as he talks about the war and the new government and Coin's assassination and a thousand other things that all start to blend into one.

"This is surreal," I say to the room as a whole as we all watch the crowd swell around the orange reporter in the City Circle. "I can't believe it's happening."

"Is it happening?" asks Adaira flatly, pinning me to the spot with eyes so dark they look black in this light.

"Of course it's happening," replies Zib before I can speak. "It's the right thing for Panem. Do you really think there's even the slightest chance of Flax saying she won't do it?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Like she said, sometimes you have to do what you have to do. And it's nearly sunset. I have to go face my new entourage."

"We'll come with you."

"No, Cali. You can't."

"We're your old entourage," says Zib with a grin. "You can't get rid of us so easily, _President Paylor_."

"Fine," I reply finally, considering protesting and then thinking better of it. "Let's go then."

* * *

><p>I don't know what I expected to see when I opened the front door. Nothing unusual, I suppose. Just the path and the gate at the end, leading onto a street that's unusually quiet for the Capitol. What I don't expect to see is a massive crowd of people, calling my name and pointing cameras that threaten to blind me with flashes of light which never quite seem to fade.<p>

I take one look at them and go back in the house, slamming the door firmly shut behind myself.

"There are half a million people out there," I say, trying to stay calm when I feel anything but. "I don't get it. They know and I don't understand how."

"This is the Capitol, Flax," answers Lucan. "Gossip flies a hundred times quicker than hovercrafts in this place. And everyone's waiting to see what will happen."

"But… I didn't think I'd have to face them now. I thought-"

"That you'd be able to stroll back to the City Circle with just us for company? It was never going to happen."

"I have to go now, don't I? I can't put it off forever. I have to give the council my decision. I can't wait."

"So let's go," says Zib, linking her arm through mine and pulling me back towards the door. "The sooner we get there, the sooner we can all start exploring that mansion."

"I'm having _that mansion _pulled down," I tell her. "If the new government rules from the same place as the old then how will people ever move on?"

"When did you get so good at this?" she replies, looking at me strangely but not letting go.

"I'm still me, Zib. You have to remember that. You all do, because if you don't then I'll go crazy."

"I know."

I smile and walk forwards, resting my hand on the gold door handle as I take a deep breath. I can't tell the mob anything. I can't announce that I'll be their new president before I've told the council. Or can I? If I'm going to be the people's leader then there's no reason why I can't tell them. If they're ever going to listen to and respect me then they have to trust me. And if I lie to them or shun them then how will they ever do that?

The camera flashes and calls of my name start as soon as I open the door, but this time I make myself walk forwards instead of turning away. I smile and answer a few of their more simple and straightforward questions as I make my way to the City Circle, and it isn't long before a massive screen on the side of one of the buildings catches my eye.

I see my own face staring back at me, and I know then that I'll never get used to it. Whatever I've achieved during the rebellion and the war, I'm not the sort of person who will ever welcome fame and attention. Seeing myself up there makes me wish Heavensbee had chosen someone else to set up for this. I'd have quite happily represented District Eight in the council and given that other person the best advice I could, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to have all eyes on me.

However then the camera pans out and I see the others walking behind me. The pride in their expressions eases my doubts slightly. At least I'm not alone. At least they're still with me.

* * *

><p>The noise is deafening, and in the end I have to walk along the middle of the wide street just so I can keep going without being trapped by the crowd. I'm about halfway to the City Circle when the black car glides up alongside me and the window winds down to reveal Narissa. I stop and raise my eyebrows questioningly at her but she says nothing until I approach the car.<p>

"I thought they'd take it like this but I came out just to make sure," she says, smiling back at me.

"What I'd like most to know is how the rumour got out in the first place," I reply, narrowing my eyes so she knows I suspect her.

"I couldn't possibly comment on that," she answers.

"No? You just thought you'd wait and see what happened instead? See if the mob cheers or starts baying for my blood?"

"Something like that," she says. "But I knew they'd be like this so it wasn't really an issue."

"You're still here like I might have needed rescuing."

"You don't need me, President Paylor," she whispers. "Your people need you though. I'll see you there."

I don't know what to say or how to react, but I can't ignore the people shouting and cheering for me. As the car speeds off, I keep walking, hoping I don't look like I'm heading towards my own execution.

* * *

><p>The first thing I think when I see the City Circle is that it looks different. All the debris of war, the rubble and the barricades and puddles of blood I'll never forget, all of it is gone. There are still things that couldn't be so quickly repaired and I can see them if I look closely, but on the surface it doesn't seem so different from the otherworldly place I used to see on a television screen in a dark and dusty room in District Eight that seems like a million miles and a thousand lifetimes away from here.<p>

Many of those times I sat watching compulsory programming were when the Hunger Games were on, and seeing the place now reminds me of that. There are people everywhere, crammed into every available space as if they're waiting for the chariots to bring the tributes to the Training Centre. Except this time a lot of them are wearing the tattered clothes of soldiers and rebels instead of Capitolian finery. And they're all looking straight at me.

The reporters surge forwards, and for a second I watch them, wondering which of them were on the side of the rebels to start with and which ones simply jumped ship when they saw the old government was going to lose. Then I realise I'll be surrounded by them soon if I stay here and immediately stride towards the steps of Snow's mansion.

They're all shouting for me, calling my name and barking questions, but it's only when I hear voices that don't speak with the high-pitched, whining accent of the Capitol that I stop and turn to face them. I pick them out right away, those people who don't quite belong here. There's great variation in appearance amongst district people, but the one thing I can say for certain is that, no matter if they're District One or District Twelve, they bear little resemblance to the Capitolians.

"Is it true you're going to be our new president, Commander Paylor?" shouts a young woman who has the dark skin and eyes typical of District Eleven and a Capitol-made camera balanced precariously across her strong shoulders. "Do you have a message for the people of the districts?"

I take a deep breath and turn back to look at Cam and Zib and all of the others waiting behind me. Cam says nothing and nods only once, but I know what he's trying to say. He's trying to tell me what I already know, that if I'm going to do this then I need to say something now. I need to openly put the people of Panem before the people who are closeted in a meeting room inside even as I stand here.

"I will-" I start, but my throat is dry and my voice doesn't carry beyond the hearing of the people at the very front of the crowd.

Then I watch with a mixture of horror and amusement as Adie pushes through the mob of reporters, takes a microphone right out of the hand of a blue-skinned Capitolian and climbs the steps to place it in my hand. She's grown again, and we're almost the same height now. It's a shock for me when I notice her eyes are virtually level with mine as she grins across at me before Zib reaches out to grab her arm and pull her aside. I manage a half-smile back and then take a deep breath, getting ready to try again.

"Yes, it is true," I tell them. "The temporary government has asked me to lead it. For now. Until a more democratic solution can be found."

To my great surprise, a lot of them begin to clap and cheer. It's an effort to keep my head up and my eyes on them when really all I suddenly want to do is lower my eyes to the floor and stare at my feet.

"My message for the districts is this: We all need to work together now. You've endured war and destruction, and before that you've endured years and years of oppression by a corrupt and malevolent dictator. I understand that because I've been there. I've lived that life, just like all of you. Which is why I don't set myself above you and hope I never will. I never dreamed I'd ever be standing here talking to you like this, but here I am. For the time I call myself your leader, I will do everything I can to make Panem a place we can all be proud of again. You have my word."

The roar of the crowd begins before I've even finished my last sentence, and it swells louder and louder until I think I'm going to be deafened by it. I feel like I should wave or do something dramatic like Capitolian speakers often did when I was watching them from home in Eight, but for some reason I simply can't move.

"I think they like you," whispers Cam as he moves to stand behind me. "Panem knows why…"

As he knew they would, his words make me forget where I am and I turn around to glare at him. He's smiling down at me, and as usual I can't stop myself from smiling back. When I look out into the crowd again, I'm still smiling, and that only makes them shout louder.

The camerawoman from District Eleven attracts my attention again, and when our eyes meet, she salutes sharply. The gesture looks odd on her because she's clearly never been a soldier, but something makes me return it anyway.

She smiles widely in response and for the first time I truly feel like I've made the right decision. When I wave at them all before heading into the mansion, it doesn't feel forced.

* * *

><p>"I'm not so sure that was the best idea," says Heavensbee once the doors have been closed behind us and Zib has pushed the others away down the corridor. "Although I'm more pleased than I can say that you've done the right thing."<p>

"Talking to people is the right thing," I reply as a uniformed servant guides us down the corridor. "I'll try to be President Paylor if that's what's best for Panem but I won't be Dictator Paylor, I can promise you that now. After everything they've been through, people deserve to know what's going on."

"But don't you think it's…wise to think about exactly what you tell them and the way you say it?"

"Sometimes."

"But not then?"

"No. I made my choice and they'd have found out soon enough anyway. You can't have it both ways. Either you want me to take the job or you don't. If I take it then I do it my way or not at all."

He laughs at that, a sound that's so loud it seems to fill the whole corridor.

"They all said you wouldn't be a pushover, Flax Paylor. Even back at the start when we were still only trying to decide how best to unseat Alma Coin."

"If you want a pushover then you'll have to find another woman. Last chance," I add, looking sideways at him as I try to decide if I want him to say he will or he won't.

"I think we'll get along well enough," he replies with a smile.

When we reach the main meeting room, he holds the door open for me himself. The gesture is lost on nobody waiting inside.

* * *

><p>The short walk to the head of the table feels so long that it could be ten thousand miles. They've left a chair there for me, the only unoccupied one, and I stare at it as I go. I find myself picturing my grandfather in my mind, and trying to imagine what he'd say if he could see me now gives me the strength to keep going. I hope he'd be proud of this person I've somehow become.<p>

"The people of the city believe you've already made your decision, Flax," says Vesper once I've taken my place at the table and turned to face them. "Are they right to?"

I look around at them, at the slightly disapproving remnants of Coin's government, at Plutarch Heavensbee and Narissa and Satin, at Falco Hazelwell, his expression as unreadable as ever beyond his grief for Cashmere. How I'm going to lead them, I have no idea. I can't imagine why they'll listen to me, these people who have spent their entire lives being powerful. I can't imagine how they'll see beyond my humble beginnings. But I can try. I can do what I can. For Panem. And when Dalton nods encouragingly and smiles, I know that's what I have to do.

"Yes," I announce in answer to Vesper's question. "I accept. But not forever. Not like President Snow. From now on, this job isn't for life. And if someone comes along who is a better solution to the problem than me," I add, glaring pointedly at Heavensbee. "Then I will step aside."

"But you are the solution," says Vesper quietly. "A leader from the districts with the common sense to do the right thing who knows nobody of any consequence and so can't be influenced by them."

"Don't say that where my rebels can hear you, will you? They quite like thinking their lives mean something."

"They're not rebels anymore, Flax," she replies, unfazed by the curtness of my response. "They're citizens of a free Panem."

"They will be."

"Right then," says Heavensbee brightly. "Good, good. Now, I propose for you to be officially sworn in as president tomorrow, Flax. I'm quite happy to manage all the arrangements if you wish."

"I'm sure you'll do a better job than I ever could," I answer dryly. "But I'm more interested in what happens after. I don't want another dictatorship. I won't let that happen. So I want a representative from each district here before we hold another council meeting. Elected if possible, if not then someone who speaks for the majority."

"But most of the mayors were killed during the war," says a District Thirteen woman whose name I never knew.

"I'm not talking about Snow-endorsed puppets," I reply, settling back against my chair as talk of progress and action relaxes me more than anything else could. "I mean real district leaders. People who led the rebellion, people who fought for freedom. Those are the people we need."

"I'm really not so sure that will be possible," says Phoebe sceptically, looking around at the others.

"Satin's here," I retort. "If she can be here then the others can be as well. Even if the rail links are shot then we still have some airworthy hovercrafts. The television networks are still up and running. If there's no other way to communicate then do it that way. We'll never get anywhere unless people realise we've got nothing to hide."

"And that's your first set of instructions?" asks Narissa with a smile.

"Yes," I reply, looking around at each of them. "Each district needs a representative. And the Capitol, too. Then there will be other roles within the council, neutral people who ensure no district is favoured and that everyone has what they need, or at least their share of what we have. Make it happen. And if you can't then you come to me."

After several more minutes of discussion and planning, they gradually begin to drift off to get on with their work. I watch them, giving my opinion when they ask for it but otherwise just listening, trying to absorb as much knowledge as I can and hoping I never give them reason to remember I don't really know what I'm doing.

"You're doing fine," says a voice from behind me, and I turn around to see Falco hovering, a mountain of paperwork threatening to cascade from his arms to the floor. From the gilt binding and the golden clips and ties, I guess they belong to Satin. "You see things clearly. And that's what Panem needs. The rest will sort itself out soon enough."

"Do you think it'll work? Do you think there are enough people left in the districts who'll want to make this work?"

"You already know the answer to that, President Paylor," he replies. "But for what it's worth, if you want my advice then I think you should go there yourself. Do your own Victory Tour, as Cashmere would have said. Let them see you. When it comes down to it, people only follow what's real in the end, because illusions can't last forever."

"And how about you? What are you going to do? Stay with Satin?"

"I don't know. Not forever. Too many memories."

"There's room for you on the council."

"A Capitolian who spent most of his life ostensibly working for Snow? I can't see that working out."

"You fought on the right side. People know that. And if they don't then they can learn. I'm not the begging type but I could use your help. You've done this before and I…well, I haven't."

"I can't," he replies eventually. "Not without her. It'd be too much like carrying on like she never existed."

"Not if you do it for her. Didn't she want freedom for Panem? Isn't that what she dreamed of?"

"I can't," he says, louder this time, loud enough to make everyone stop talking to stare.

He glares around at them all and quickly leaves the room. It takes several minutes for the buzz of their conversations to start up again.

"Cashmere was everything to him," says Narissa, whispering so nobody other than Vesper, who sits on her other side, will be able to hear. "He can't get over what happened. He doesn't want to."

"It takes time," I reply, more because it seems to be the right thing to say than because I'm genuinely convinced.

"It'd take him an eternity and none of us have that long," she says, her voice even quieter than it was before.

I say nothing to that because I wouldn't know where to start.

* * *

><p>"Why can't I just wear my uniform?" I ask Drusilla plaintively the following morning as she brushes an imaginary speck of dust from my new suit. "Everyone's used to me wearing it."<p>

"You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ go to that ceremony wearing your old uniform. The whole Capitol knows I'm dressing you, so think of my reputation if you think of nothing else."

"Drusilla, it's very nice," I start, staring into the mirror at the woman gazing back at me. She looks nothing like Flax Paylor. "But it's not the most comfortable thing in the world. And I don't look right. I don't look like myself. I look like myself dressing up as Satin."

"In a couple of hours people are going to be calling you President Paylor. You might not care about such things, but appearance matters. You want people to take you seriously? You have to dress properly. Besides, you should be honoured. This is one of Felix's own designs."

"I'm sorry," I say, genuinely meaning it when I see the sadness ghost across the older woman's face. Apparently Felix was out with a camera crew during the worst of the fighting at the end of the war and they were cornered by a troop of Peacekeepers. He took his nightlock pill rather than be captured alive. "Truly. I know how much Felix meant to you and I don't mean to be ungrateful. It's just that this isn't me," I continue, gesturing down at the suit. "This whole situation is making me uncomfortable enough, and this is just adding to it."

"When you go out there, they will judge you, whether you like it or not. There are people in the city who doubt you, who think a woman from the districts can't possibly rebuild this country from the chaos. The first step to proving them wrong is making them think twice. If you go out there looking like you mean business then they'll stop and listen to you. Once you have that, you're there, because Panem only knows you talk the talk well enough when you don't think too hard. But you need to grab their attention," she says, reaching up and tapping the centre of my forehead with her forefinger. "So stop whining. _Madam President_."

"Fine, fine, okay, you win," I reply, taking a step back and examining myself in the mirror again. "Let's get this over with."

She nods, looking very much like she's trying not to smile. When she opens the door, I abruptly realise why. There's a crowd of people waiting outside, every one of them a familiar face from home. I suddenly don't know what to say.

"Look at you in your fancy clothes, President Paylor," calls Zib, whistling so loudly that the sound seems to fill the whole corridor.

"Shut it, Zibeline," I retort, hugging her tightly when she drapes her arm across my shoulders. "How would you like it?"

"I wouldn't," she replies, looking down at her own clothes, which are still plain even if they are made from a fabric of many times better quality than anything we ever wore back in Eight. "But I'm not you."

"What were you saying about getting it over with?" interrupts Drusilla pointedly, glancing down at her watch.

"You'll be late for your own party, Flaxie," says Baize, and before I can protest, he and Darry stand on either side of me and then lift me up so I'm sitting on their shoulders.

"We're proud of you, Flax," says Cam when I start to tell them to put me down. "Let us stay with you until you get there."

I smile, waving my hand in front of my eyes in attempt to stop my tears from flowing and totally ruining my makeup. After the length of time it took Drusilla to do, I doubt she'd be impressed and actually think there's a chance she'd make it so Heavensbee has to find Panem a new president.

Once I've recovered, every single one of them snaps to attention and salutes before Baize and Darry start walking. I think I'm the only president in the history of Panem who's ever had her soldiers carry her to a formal ceremony.

* * *

><p>"…so to all of you watching from the districts, believe me when I say this is going to be a very different Panem to the one you've known. This is going to be a Panem where every person is equal, where every person has a voice. So join me and my new government, vote for the person you want to speak for you as your district representative, and together we can create a country we're proud of."<p>

I've barely finished speaking when the clapping and cheering from the public gallery begins. I hear it and I find myself having to cling to my lectern for support, even more so than when I was talking. It was my first speech after swearing my oath as president, and though the sentiments were mine, most of the words were either Heavensbee's or Narissa's. The more I said, the more sure I became that I'd be writing my own speeches from now on because I just didn't feel comfortable speaking so formally, but if the noise is anything to go by then people didn't seem to mind. In the end I smile back at them because I know they'd never hear anything I said even if I tried to speak.

* * *

><p>The gunshot that seemed to come from nowhere echoes in my mind long after the noise of the crowd has drowned it out. Someone crashes into me and sends me flying towards the floor, and though my first instinct is to get up so I can fight back, I'm held firmly in place. There are people all around me, so close that I feel like I can hardly breathe.<p>

"Let me up," I gasp, trying to sound firmer and more sure of myself than I really feel. "Now."

When I'm lifted roughly to my feet, I'm surrounded by familiar faces. When I came into this room, they felt like an honour guard. Now they feel like protection.

"Get the president out of here!" yells someone I don't recognise, and I immediately guess from his Capitolian appearance that he's either Plutarch's lackey or Narissa's. "Let's go!"

"No," I snap, standing up straight and scanning the chaos around me as I recover as quickly as I used to during the war. "Bring them forwards."

My former-rebels drag their two captives towards me, and for some reason both of them look familiar even though I can't actually place either of them.

"Open your eyes," snarls the one, a tall, powerful man with the stereotypical District Two dark hair and eyes. He attempts to pull away from his captors and quickly succeeds, however he stops in front of me and points back at the other one. "I just saved your life from that psycho, Paylor," he continues. "But I don't expect gratitude, only for you to let me walk away."

Lucan steps forwards and I distinctly see recognition in his eyes when he looks at the other man, but he says nothing.

"It's true, Commander," says Darry, temporarily forgetting my new title.

"President," corrects Adaira immediately, looking across at me with something that seems a lot like pride.

"President," echoes Darry. "He must have followed the other one in. He tackled her before she could get a clear shot."

"And who is _she_?"

The group steps back and I get my answer. I'd know from Lucan's reaction even if her disguise isn't so poor that I recognise her straight away. Prisca. President Snow's chief advisor turned my would-be assassin.

"You'll hang for this," growls the man who claimed to have saved my life. "This and everything else you did." Then he spits on the floor at her feet. "I should have killed you myself."

"But you didn't. Because you're weak," snarls Prisca, her eyes flying from side to side in a way that makes me think she's not entirely sane. "And I don't know why I bothered trying to kill you, Paylor. You're nothing. _Nothing_."

I force myself to stare unblinkingly back at her. I can sense every person in the vast room is watching me, waiting for my reaction, waiting for my judgement. To my great surprise, my instinct tells me to kill her now. It's what I'd have done if we'd still been at war and I suppose not enough time has passed for that mentality to entirely fade. But I can't. I can't set a precedent.

"Take her to the Vault," I command, and I see Falco Hazelwell shudder at the mention of what used to be President Snow's maximum security jail. "Baize, you go. And don't let anyone you wouldn't trust with your life guard her. She'll stand trial tomorrow."

"Under what charge?" Prisca hisses. "With what evidence?"

"War crimes, crimes against humanity, torture… Do you really need me to go on? And I'm sure there'll be any number of witnesses the prosecution can call. Which is more evidence than you ever needed to find someone guilty back in your glory days, isn't that right?"

She glares murderously back at me so I glare right back. It might not be the most appropriate thing for a president to do, but I do it anyway. Then I nod for Baize to take her away and he obeys without question. It's only when Narissa starts to follow that he stops and looks questioningly back at me.

"We have history," Narissa says, her voice so low that nobody further away from her than I am will hear. "She'll be in court tomorrow, you have my word."

"_Standing _in court tomorrow," I reply. "Do I have your word on that?"

"Of course," she says, smiling a truly wicked smile as she turns to Prisca. "As my grandmother would have said, words can be as painful as knives if you know how to wield them. And you and my grandmother go way back, don't you, Prisca?"

"You'll never break me, Redsparrow," growls the other Capitolian woman, struggling briefly against Baize and then giving it up as pointless. "Do what you like, I'll never talk."

"We'll see about that, won't we? Even if you don't, it'll be a pleasure to try and make you."

I nod once and Baize and his men drag Prisca away with Narissa following closely behind.

"Have I just condoned torturing a prisoner?" I ask, turning around to find Dalton behind me.

"Possibly," he replies. "But that woman was second only to Snow himself and just as twisted. Nobody will condemn you for it."

"That's not the point though, is it?"

"Prisca Oakhurst was the woman who ordered the execution of every man, woman and child who was part of the group of District Two quarry workers that moved weapons out of the Capitol to stores in the districts twenty years ago," says an unfamiliar voice, and I look around to see the man who claimed to have saved my life and probably did. "She took them out to one of the quarries, lined them up and watched as her Peacekeepers killed them. Children first so she could listen to their parents beg and plead and cry."

"How can you possibly know that?" asks Lucan quietly when I'm temporarily too appalled to find words because I somehow know it's true.

"I was there. I saw," says the man. "I was only a boy who was out where he shouldn't have been, but I saw. My father begged Oakhurst to spare my mother before she killed them both. With her own gun."

"I had no idea," replies Lucan. "I-"

"Why would you know? I only ever told one other person and she died ten years ago."

"You look familiar," I say, finally finding my voice. "I recognise you."

"Then it's time for me to leave, Madam President. As I said, the only favour I ask of you is that you pretend I was never here. You'll never see me again."

He pushes past me when he leaves, hard enough for some of my new presidential guard to reach for their guns and step towards me. But something makes me raise my hand to stop them, and as the man quickly disappears, they soon stand down.

"Lucan?"

He knows what I'm asking him and sighs resignedly.

"He won the Games. Fifteen years ago. With a mace and his bare hands."

"Tiberius Silvestri? But all the Victors died apart from those at Coin's meeting," I reply, saying it even though I wonder how I didn't place the other man's face now Lucan's told me who he is.

"Obviously not. Luckily."

"I'm never going to get used to this, Lucan. How many more times are people going to try to kill me. I thought I'd seen the end of that when the war ended."

"Nobody will get that close again," he answers eventually. "Your guard will make sure of that. And I think you'll find Prisca was a bit of an exception. You don't exactly have a lot of enemies."

I nod before glancing across at Zib. "I'm sending her home," I say.

"I'll talk to her," he replies. "And I'll come with her when we visit."

"You're going with her?"

"If she'll have me," he replies with a grin. "I don't know how long it'll take before I end up dead or worse, but I'll take the risk."

"Good."

He smiles before he walks away, leaving me to watch the mass of people swarming around me as they try to work out what to do next. I should say something, I should take control because that's what presidents do, but I don't. Watching them like this gives me time to think, and it's not until I hear someone pointedly clear their throat that I finally snap out of my trance.

"Shall I escort you to your office, President Paylor?" asks Satin with a smile that for her is almost kind.

"Thank you, Satin, but no. I won't be staying here," I say, surprisingly calmly considering everything that just happened. "Nor will anyone else. Clear the building of people and anything that doesn't reek of old-Capitol or can be recycled. In the morning, this whole place is coming down. If we're starting again then we're going to do it properly."

* * *

><p><em><strong>So that's it then. The End. (unless you count the epilogue, which I haven't quite finished yet)<strong>_

_**Thank you to those of you who've reviewed, favourited and put this on alert - if you're still out there reading then let me know. It is the last chapter, after all... Thanks :)**_


	22. Epilogue

**_I've written for the Hunger Games for years and this is my first happy ending. Therefore I make no apologies for the general lack of doom and gloom in this..._**

Epilogue

It's funny how it takes something massive like a war to make a person appreciate what they've always taken for granted or never had time to notice in the past. I can't help thinking that as I sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in my office and watch the sun rise. Panem's far from perfect, but it's still unrecognisable from what it used to be.

It's not unusual for me to be here at this time. The only chance I really get to be alone is when virtually everyone else is asleep. And watching the sunrise helps me. The sun I'm looking at now is the same sun the people in District Eight can see. It's been too long since I've been home, too many months have passed where I either simply haven't been able to leave the Capitol or some trouble or problem in another of the districts has taken my time.

But not for much longer. Because today is the day it ends. And tomorrow is the day I can go home.

I stare at the sky for several more minutes before the sound of the door creaking behind me makes me turn around. Who would be here at this time in the morning? And more to the point, who would dare to enter a president's office without knocking? Nobody's dared to do it for the past two years, so why are they starting now?

I begin to stand up at the same time as I take a deep breath, putting my public face on without having to think about it even a tenth as much as I used to. It's become natural to me now, something I do without thinking. But then I see who's on the other side of the door and I sit back down again.

Of all the people I might have been expecting, this small child wasn't one of them. She walks towards me, still slightly shaky on her feet but determined not to fall all the same. Her pale gold hair catches the light of the rising sun and she looks more like something out of an ancient fairytale than the daughter of one of my greatest allies and closest friends.

"Why are you here, Sapphire?" I ask, watching the little girl as she reaches out to gratefully grasp the side of my chair for support. "Where's your Ma?"

"They can take the woman out of District Eight, but they can't take District Eight out of the woman, isn't that right, Flax?"

"'Mother' doesn't sound right," I reply, rolling my eyes as I look across to the doorway where Satin is standing, her arms by her sides and her back as perfectly straight as ever.

She smiles and walks as far as the chair on the other side of my desk. Then, instead of sitting down, she picks it up and carries it around so she can set it down beside mine. Sapphire giggles and then stumbles over to her, raising her arms until Satin gives in and picks her up.

"She looks so like her that they could be the same person," she says, and when Sapphire gazes across at me with impossibly bright blue eyes, I know Satin's talking about Cashmere.

"What are you doing here now, Satin?" I ask, knowing better than to think she really wants to talk about her sister. "It's way too early for sane people to be up and about."

"You're not standing for re-election, are you?" is her blunt reply. "That's why you wouldn't talk about the speech you're giving later."

"You've always known I wouldn't be President Paylor forever. I never said otherwise, not once in the past two years."

"It'll be a shock to people."

"You mean to Plutarch?"

"I mean to everyone. Look at all you've achieved, Flax. Think about what you can still achieve if you stay."

"My biggest achievement is the Council of Panem," I say, quietly but firmly because I've waited too long for this day to change my mind now. "Each district has a representative on that council for a reason. The Council makes the decisions, not a single person who calls themselves the president. Virtually any one of them could do my job now. You could do it if you wanted. If the people of District Eight want to elect me then I'll be their representative for as long as they want me to be. But I want to go home, Satin. It's where I belong. I know you understand that," I finish, looking pointedly at Sapphire.

"I've worked with you and metaphorically stood by your side since the day you stood in the City Circle and shot Prisca Oakhurst, and I did that because I believed in you. That was two years ago, and I still believe in you now."

"I don't know what to say. I'm flattered and it means a lot to me. What I've done ever since the first uprising means more to me than I can say, but-"

"You're not going to change your mind?"

"No, I'm not. Panem doesn't need me to stay now, and I really need to go home."

"Flax-"

"Flax," echoes Sapphire, pointing at me and smiling widely.

Satin and I look at each other, and then at the same moment we give in to the laughter neither of us can hold back.

"See. There isn't a person in Panem who doesn't know who you are."

"Of course she knows me. I've seen her countless times since she was born. But I'm not dying, Satin. I'm not dropping out of life entirely, despite what you think of the backwater province of District Eight," I add, with a smile which broadens when she scowls viciously back. "I'll probably still be on the Council unless Poplin wants a fight about it."

"Good. But no offence to Poplin, of course. I like her. She's smart."

"Yes, she is," I reply. "So maybe she should stay on the Council."

"I'm sorry, Flax, but that's not going to happen. Panem knows why but people like you. And the people in Eight worship you like you're some kind of goddess. There's no way they won't vote you onto the Council if your name's on the ballot papers. You'll probably find shrines and temples when you go home."

"Very funny."

"Come on," she says, passing Sapphire to me and then standing up. "It's time for breakfast. Even presidents need to eat."

* * *

><p>The buzz after I've delivered my speech is like nothing I've heard in the Council Room before. I don't really understand why people seem to be so shocked when I've always maintained that I've no intention of being president forever, but a lot of them don't look like they were expecting it at all. Which is stupid really. What did they think I called the election for?<p>

"So," I start, having to raise my voice to be heard over everyone else. "In this room are the fourteen representatives of the districts and the Capitol, and then those of you with specific roles within the Council. Each of you is vitally important to Panem and each of you will cast your vote this morning. Afterwards, the person with the most votes from amongst his or her peers will become the next person to preside over the Council of Panem in accordance with the Treaty of Freedom."

Even after all this time, my voice still catches when I mention the Treaty of Freedom, the new constitution of Panem that replaced the Treaty of Treason which was so much beloved by Coriolanus Snow and his government. It's that treaty and the hard work of the people who are sat in this room that created the place we all live in today. It's the reason why virtually every person in Panem has food to eat and somewhere to live. I've never been more proud of anything.

"You say that like you won't be here to see it," says Phoebe, who was elected to represent the Capitol when the Council was first formed.

"She'll be here, but like she said, she won't be standing for re-election," replies Vesper before I can speak.

She sits to my right side, about halfway around the perfectly round, oak table, her hands resting on the edge of the intricately painted map of Panem that covers its top. She spends her days negotiating deals between districts, resolving conflict and generally keeping the peace, and though her official title is 'Secretary of Diplomatic Relations', she's known universally as 'The Peacekeeper'. Given what the Peacekeepers used to be, it speaks volumes about how much progress we've made that people can actually almost joke about such things. But she still never wears white.

"No, I won't. But everyone here has been elected by the people. President is merely a title and a job now. Everyone in the country has a voice. Within the next two years, we'll be ready to move to a full democracy where everyone votes for their president as well. That's what always used to happen."

"Yes, it is," says Plutarch. "And it will happen again. We're almost there."

Then, with a flourish worthy of his days as Head Gamemaker, he places a plain wooden box on the table in front of him.

"Everyone will write the name of the person they wish to vote for on the piece of paper in front of them and then place it into the box. Then President Paylor will count them up and announce her successor, first here and then to the whole country."

Everyone looks solemn, but when my eyes catch Poplin's, she smiles softly. We've become closer over the past months, perhaps each reminding the other of home, and she knew exactly what I was going to do. I've been talking to her of going back to Eight for a long time.

* * *

><p>When I first had it built, part of me thought the pathway I now walk along without thinking was a stupid idea. Now I'm certain it wasn't. When it allows me to leave the Council House, travel under the street that runs through the City Circle and reach my house without being seen by a single soul, how can it possibly be stupid?<p>

After climbing the steps into what looks like an ordinary outbuilding in the grounds of my house, I peer out of the window to check there's nobody around. Only when I decide the way is definitely clear do I go outside. I wouldn't want to disclose the secret escape before my successor can use it. Not that creeping around and escaping is Satin's style. If she wants to leave a place then she just leaves, with her head held high and her entourage behind her. She'll be a good president. I have faith in her and I'm glad she was elected.

It's all quiet in the house and everything's as I left it. A mess, as usual. But I still know there's something not right. There's someone else here, or if there isn't then there has been, and it takes me about a second to cross to the sideboard and pull out the gun from underneath it.

"Are you really going to shoot me with that?"

I spin around at the sound of the voice from behind me, but instead of raising the gun, I drop it to the floor instantly.

Cam stands only a few short metres away, his hair a bit longer than it was when I saw him last and at least twice as scruffy. His clothes are patched, like he's got so used to being back at home that he's forgotten he doesn't need to do that anymore and can just get new ones. I open my mouth to speak but then suddenly realise I don't know what to say.

I've only seen him for the odd week or two at a time for the past two years. Presidential duties haven't allowed for it to be any other way. And I've missed him. I've missed him so much that I can barely breathe now he's actually stood in front of me and I know he won't have to leave without me this time.

"I'm here to steal you away, Flaxie," he says, smiling slightly. "And this time there's nobody in Panem who's going to get in my way."

"I suppose you've waited long enough," I reply, refusing to let myself smile back yet because I might explode with emotion if I do. "I guess that means you really love me."

"Not really," he answers teasingly, really smiling now. "I just waited for two years to tell you I'm not that interested."

When he says that, the years of war and time apart fade away and I jump forwards to hit him like I would have done five years ago. He laughs, playfully hitting me back before pulling me into his arms and clinging to me like he's never going to let go. I hope he never does, but someone coughs and I reluctantly pull back.

"I forgot to say. I didn't exactly come on my own."

I follow the direction of the cough into the sitting room to find two people looking back at me. At first I don't recognise the nearest one. She's tall and strong-looking, with thick dark-blonde hair cut short so it just rests on her shoulders. But then her eyes meet mine and I know. It might have been two years since I saw her, but her big brown District Eight eyes are the same. Adie, but older now, a young woman not a little girl, whose Capitolian half of her parentage shows far more clearly than she likes. Zib told me she'd grown. I didn't realise how much.

I step forwards, unsure how she's going to react, but she shows no such doubt. She rushes over and hugs me tightly, still the same Adie despite how much she's changed. She only lets me go when her companion reaches up to touch my arm.

"I've missed you, Cali," I tell her, and I'm abruptly folded into the arms of the woman who has been more like a mother to me than my real mother ever was.

"It's only been a couple of months since you came to Eight. And I haven't had chance to miss you," she replies teasingly. "Your face is never off my television screen."

"Where is she?" I ask, hoping she don't take my longing to see my closest friend as some kind of rejection.

"Did you seriously think I'd miss this? Honestly, Flaxie, and to think they made you the president."

I turn around to see Zib standing in the doorway, and she stays there for only a split second before she sprints across the room and throws herself into my arms. Everyone laughs, and I can't help feeling like I'm already home. But I notice something else as well - Zib's as tiny as ever in all ways but one, and when I'm hugging her as tightly as I am, I can't ignore the slight swell of her belly that wasn't there when I saw her two months ago.

"Something you want to tell me that you didn't tell me last time I saw you, Zibeline?"

"You weren't you when I saw you last. You were doing your President Paylor thing."

"The me you know and President Paylor are the same person, Zib. You could have told me."

"I'm here to tell you now. It's taken me a while to believe it myself."

"And?" I reply softly, unsure of the response I'll get because she's never exactly thought of herself as the maternal type, no matter how the whole world can see how good she is with Adie and how much she loves her.

"I got used to the idea after I finally ran out of death threats and he still stayed with me," she replies with a smirk that tells me all I need to know and makes me grin back at her. "But it's all his fault, the stupid man. How am I going to be anyone's mother? It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"As I said to you before, Zibeline Pershing," says Cali firmly. "I don't think you can hold Lucan entirely accountable for the fact it's going to be Auntie Flaxie instead of President Paylor in a few months time. The pair of you make the average Capitolian look modest and you're not exactly discreet about it."

"Cali!" she exclaims, but being Zib, she doesn't quite manage to look embarrassed.

"Too much information already," says Adie, rolling her eyes. "I _don't_ need to hear that about my sister."

"Ditto," retorts Zib, her expression a familiar one that tells me even she doesn't know if she's joking or being serious. "So make sure Chiron keeps his hands and his everything else to himself. Or I'll make sure of it for him. On a permanent basis."

"Chiron?" I ask as the younger Pershing sister flounces out of the room in a strop.

"One of the ex-Training Centre kids from Two. Adie's been there with me and Lucan a few times and she met him there. I like him really, but it's more fun if she doesn't know that."

"You're cruel," I reply, but I laugh along with everyone else all the same. "There are more than enough bedrooms upstairs," I continue. "Sleep where you want because I can't leave until after the ceremony tomorrow."

"Are you sure you don't want to run away with me?" asks Cam teasingly.

"I'm sure," I reply flatly, before flopping down onto the sofa.

* * *

><p>I'd been going to go to bed, but in the end the others sit down as well and none of us go anywhere. We're still talking when the sun rises, and I quickly decide it isn't worth going to sleep. There'll be time for that when I'm on the train home.<p>

"I've got to go see Drusilla," I announce when the clock strikes for six. "She'll never forgive me if I'm seen in public like this."

"I still can't believe you have a stylist," says Zib, lifting her head from my shoulder.

"Neither can I. But I think I'll miss her complaining about my hair."

"What's wrong with your hair?" asks Cam as he stretches his arms high above his head. "I like your hair."

"Everything, according to Drusilla. I've given up trying to argue."

* * *

><p>However in the end, the ceremony happens without any problems, either with my hair or otherwise, and it seems like only five minutes have passed before I'm sitting in my car at the front of the train station. There are reporters and camera crews everywhere, just like there have been all day as they attempt to follow every stage of the elections, but it feels different now. This time I'm going home.<p>

"Ready to go?" asks Poplin, sitting back into the chair as she finally gives up leaning forwards to watch the people outside.

"I think so," I reply. "How about you? I'll stand down from the district elections if you ask me to, you know that, don't you?"

"No," she says instantly. "Don't do that. I want us to work together. And there's plenty for me to do in Eight when you're in the Capitol for meetings."

"Let's get it over with then. How long do you think it will take to get on the train?"

"With that lot in our way? At least an hour."

She's wrong though, because as soon as I open the door and get out of the car, I'm surrounded by at least half a dozen people, all dressed in pristine black suits. They move forwards as one, taking me with them as they move through the crowd, not stopping even when I look back for Poplin.

"What's going on?" I ask as soon as I reach the private waiting room they show me into.

"Sorry about that," says a familiar voice as I close the door behind myself. "I wanted to speak to you before you left and I thought you'd appreciate a reporter-free journey into the station."

"You're right about that," I reply, watching Narissa constantly as I cross the room and take a seat opposite her.

If Vesper's the one who works publicly to encourage the formation of ties between the districts then Narissa's the one who stays behind the scenes and below the surface. She doesn't have an official title, but I know that if Snow was still alive then he'd have called her my spymaster. There isn't anything worth knowing in Panem that she doesn't hear about and I doubt there could be anyone better suited to the role than her. Just like she did before the rebellion, she has eyes everywhere, and I've come to rely on her even if I don't entirely trust her.

"What is it? If there's a problem then you go to Satin first now."

"There's no problem," she replies, smiling that sly smile she has that makes her look like she knows something nobody else does. "This is hard for me to say and I don't say it lightly, but I wanted you to know you've done a good job. You have my respect, Flax Paylor, and you can count the number of people who can say that on one hand."

"Am I supposed to be honoured?" I ask, and even I'm surprised to hear the lack of anger and annoyance in my voice.

"Only if you want to be," she replies dryly. "But either way, you know how to contact me if you need to. I'll see you at the Council meeting next month anyway."

"Who said I'm going to be on the Council?"

"Come on, _Flaxie_," she says. "We all know you won't be able to resist. As soon as you get home, you'll be totally unable to fight the urge to get involved with every single problem in Eight. It's just the way you are."

"Being just the way I am hasn't served me too badly so far."

"No, it hasn't. Which is why I'll see you at the Council meeting next month."

"I expect you will," I reply, giving in with a sigh of acceptance. "My train's leaving in a minute. Are you going to tell me why you're really here?"

"Is your train going to stop for fuel in Two?"

"You already know it is."

"Then I'd be very grateful if you could make sure this finds its way into the hands of my most lethal weapon."

I nod once and take the piece of paper from her. When I look at it, all I see is a jumble of numbers and letters, a code that very few people understand and one I didn't want to learn even when I had the option. There are very few instances where I decide ignorance is bliss, but when it came to the intricacies of the workings of Narissa Redsparrow's spy network, I felt I had no choice for the sake of my own sanity.

"What does it say?"

"It's an address. Amongst other things. She'll know."

"And how will I know where to find her?"

"You won't. She'll find you."

I fold it back up and incline my head again before turning and walking out onto the platform. For over a year now, Enobaria's been working to control those in the districts who have sought to use the chaos of the revolution to their own advantage. Narissa recruited her, although what she said to her to get her to agree is something I've never dared ask.

I guess I don't need to know now, and as I look up at the sky, the sun breaks through the clouds. Today's the day. I'm going home. And even though it probably should, nothing else matters.

* * *

><p>I go for a walk to stretch my legs as soon as the train glides to a halt in the newly restored District Two station, and I'm not at all surprised when a scruffy-looking girl of no more than five or six steps out of the shadows and beckons me towards her. She looks directly up at me with eyes that make her seem a lot older than she actually is, and I follow without question, without speaking at all. I have nothing to fear, not even here.<p>

We walk inside a derelict warehouse only a minute or two later, and I shudder though it isn't cold. Even after all the time that's passed, places like this still remind me of what we laughingly called a field hospital during the rebellion in Eight. If I close my eyes then I can still see the blood on the floor and I can still hear the people screaming and crying out for help I couldn't provide.

"Go home, Lupa," whispers a voice, and I jerk my head up instantly.

The little girl vanishes without a sound and I don't watch her go. Instead my attention settles on the metal platform that's fixed about halfway up the wall. It's like the ones the supervisors used to stand on in the factories at home, and seeing it makes me wonder what this place used to be used for, but my thoughts quickly move on in response to the woman who stares down at me.

She smiles, but it's a cold expression which doesn't reach eyes that are little more than shadows in the dim light. My breath catches when she leaps forwards off the edge of the platform, but she lands lightly on the floor in front of me and doesn't even stumble despite the height.

"Enobaria."

"Paylor."

"You have interesting messengers," I say evenly, deliberately staring in the direction the girl she called Lupa disappeared. "How is that child going to get to school if she spends her time running errands for you?"

"You're not President Paylor now," she replies. "And Lupa's smart already. The District Two way. She knows she's never going to be sitting in an office in the Capitol."

I sigh deeply. No matter what educational reforms the Council and I have introduced, it'll take a lot more than one generation to totally change a system that lasted well over a hundred years. Education in the districts is variable at best, and many children still don't go to a proper school.

"You have something for me, apparently," says Enobaria, still pacing around in front of me like she couldn't stay in one place if she tried.

I take the piece of paper Narissa gave me from my pocket and hold it out to her. She snatches it away, carefully making sure her skin doesn't touch mine. When she quickly scans it, I can tell from the look in her eyes that it means a lot more to her than it did to me.

"What is it?" I ask, unable to restrain my curiosity.

"My business," she replies, throwing her mass of black hair back over her shoulder and snarling at me in a way that's strangely no less intimidating now her gold-tipped fangs have been restored to the normal teeth they used to be before she won the Hunger Games nearly twenty years ago.

"I was your president until about ten hours ago," I tell her, refusing to back away. "And after all I've seen, not a lot scares me, not even you."

"If I was trying to scare you then you'd know about it," she replies, and if I'd been speaking to anyone else then I'd expect to hear a hint of humour in her voice. But this is Enobaria Moreno, so I can't. She doesn't do humour. "It's an address in the city. Some lowlife's trying to make a profit selling something that shouldn't be for sale. It's going to be my pleasure to end it. And him."

I stare back at her, at least partly wishing I'd never asked. She just smiles that wicked smile again and tugs the zip of her black military-issue jacket further up towards her chin.

"I was surprised when Narissa told me you'd agreed to work with us."

"Why? Killing whoever the person in power tells me are the bad guys is what I do."

"Don't you want something more?"

"Who are you? Some kind of counsellor? Because I'll save you the bother and tell you there's no therapy in the world that'll fix me. Snow got someone to try once. Because he thought there was profit in it for him," she says, looking pointedly down at her petite figure that's barely changed since she was a tribute girl.

"I'm just curious, that's all."

"You know what curiosity did," she replies, and then she pushes past me and disappears without another word.

I stand there for a few minutes, listening to the wind rattle the windows and the metal walls of the warehouse. But then I remember the train and race back to the platform.

"Flax, where've you been?" asks Zib as soon as I get there. "We're ready to go. I've been looking for you."

"Sorry," I reply as she drags me to the train and practically pushes me inside. "There was something I had to do."

"Here?" she asks sceptically, but when I don't answer, she doesn't press me.

"So tell me what's been going on back home then," I say as we all sit down in the same cabin, sacrificing space and comfort so we can all talk together.

"It doesn't look that different to how it was when you saw it last," replies Cam, shrugging his shoulders.

"Even with all the stone and building materials you got from Two?" I ask suspiciously.

"It all takes time, _President Paylor_," replies Zib, shaking her head and glaring at me with mock-annoyance.

I shake my head back at her as I realise I'm never going to hear the end of that title, no matter how much time passes.

"Fine. But I'll see what's going on when we get there, you know that, don't you?"

"I know, I know," she says lightly, smiling slightly as she turns to look out of the window.

Despite my need for answers, I also stare out as the lights of District Two get smaller and smaller as we zoom away. I'm looking forward to seeing some of the other districts, even if it is very briefly and from the train. Over the past few months, our plans to improve the transport links between them have started to become reality, and that's meant more and more materials have been moved around and shared. The rebuild has really started now, and I hope I'll be able to see buildings and roads that weren't there before.

* * *

><p>"There aren't many people around, are there?" I ask as we leave the platform and head out into the main station building.<p>

It looks much the same as it did the last time I saw it. Little of the damage it suffered during the bombing has been repaired yet, but the parts that are still intact are as they've always been - remnants of a time before the Dark Days that were only enjoyed by the privileged few prior to the uprising. Seeing them now only makes me remember how I used to feel as a child on the rare occasion I came up here. Seeing them makes me remember clutching Grandpa's hand and trying to ignore the way the station people looked down at us.

"Your time in power gone to your head, Paylor?" replies Poplin teasingly. "Were you expecting a welcoming committee?"

"No," I retort instantly, but that's not exactly true. As much as I've never really liked it, I've got used to crowds of people being wherever I am, and it's strange for them not to be here. Part of me was hoping some of the people from my own district would want to welcome me home.

"Come on," interrupts Cam, taking my hand and leading me out of the station.

I don't know what I expected to see, but it certainly wasn't the group of cars that are actually there. They're very battered and old cars, nothing like the ones I'm used to seeing in the Capitol, but it's still a surprise to see them. As far as I knew, every car in Eight was either used by some Capitolian to escape before the rebellion or blown up in the bombing.

"Your transport awaits," says Zib, waving her arm in the direction of the cars with a flourish almost worthy of the big city.

"Are you sure they're roadworthy?" I ask with a smile. "Maybe I should walk."

"Get in the car, Flaxie," she replies, linking her arm through mine and dragging me across the street.

"Who's driving?"

"Me."

"You can't drive."

"I can. Lucan taught me."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Don't you trust me? I'm offended."

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not. But you're still going to get in the car. Isn't she, Cam?"

"Absolutely," he replies, and before I can object, he puts his arm around my waist and pushes me inside.

The first suspicions hit me when the car slows down and a low buzzing sound drifts in through the open windows to replace the noise of the engine. The street we're travelling down has been completely cleared of rubble and debris from the war. Many of the houses that line it look tidy and lived in. It's all very different to when I was here a couple of months ago.

"What's that noise?"

"People," replies Cali, not quite meeting my eyes.

"What are they doing?"

"Waiting for you," she says, nodding pointedly at the window behind me as we slowly turn a corner and the noise volume rapidly multiplies.

"Why?"

I asked the question, but as I gaze out at the main square, at what used to be the Peacekeeper Headquarters and the small number of large houses which were occupied by any Capitolian visitors to the district before it was all flattened, I start to understand.

The crowd is gathered outside the front of a row of new houses, clearly made using stone quarried from District Two. Only one of them is finished. And that's the one they create a path to as soon as I climb out of the car.

"You'd better like it," whispers Zib, leaning close to my ear so I can hear her over the shouting and cheering. "Because we made it for you. Virtually every person in the district stopped by to put at least one stone down. They wanted it finished for when you came back."

"I don't know what to say," I reply, surprised to find my eyes filling with tears. "Why?"

"Because they wouldn't have their freedom if you hadn't done what you did. Because you mean something to them and they want you to know it."

"I already know it."

"Well, now you have a house to live in. Be grateful," she adds dryly.

"I am grateful," I reply, smiling and wiping my tears away with the back of my hand. "If I'm crying, it's because… It's because…"

"Honestly, you're pathetic," replies Zib, and a lot of the others laugh because they know she doesn't mean it.

I climb the short set of steps to the front door and turn around so they can all see me. I try desperately to think of something to say to them, but in the end I don't need to. I raise my arm and they all clap and cheer.

They don't finally start to leave until I go inside, and I'm still smiling even after all that time has passed. I'll never forget this day, no matter what else happens.

"Do you want the guided tour?" asks Cam, but before I can reply, there's a knock at the door.

I answer it to find two people I never expected to see, possibly not ever again.

"We made this for you," says my sister, holding out the most intricately embroidered quilt I've ever seen. I look past her to see my mother waiting tentatively at the edge of the path, her eyes on the floor. "I thought maybe we could all start again. Can we come in?"

I stare at Weft for a minute and then look back at Cam. My mother finally looks at me, her expression so full of guilt and need for forgiveness that, though I barely know her now, even I can see it.

It takes less than I thought it would to make myself stand back from the door and hold it open.

* * *

><p><strong><em>So that's it... All I have left to say is thank you to everyone who's ever read or reviewed this or any of my other stories :)<em>**


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